Repercussions
by Faolin
Summary: “It is said in the Rambaldi prophecy that his second coming is by way of a child.” The Covenant is after Sydney's eggs, as is everyone else. SS
1. Default Chapter

**Title:** Repercussions

**Author:** Faolin

**Rating:** R for language and possible sexual situations

**Timeline:** Set during Repercussions, so anything before that is most likely included. It's pretty much AU after that.

**Summary:** "It is said in the Rambaldi prophecy that his second coming is by way of a child." The Covenant is after Sydney's eggs, as is everyone else.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Alias, even though I asked Santa. But I do own Nikolai, so ha!

_Repercussions _

**Prologue - **

_They shook hands. Jack turned to walk toward his car parked about twenty feet away. Simon turned to walk away also. He unbuttoned his blazer, pulling a gun out of his waistband. He turned around to fire at Jack but found that Jack was ready for him. Jack shot Simon in the chest and he collapsed to the ground. Simon writhed on the ground, blood dripping from his mouth and his wound. He looked at his bloody hand in disbelief._

"_You shot me… You shot me? You bastard!" Jack put the laptop back on the desk and walked closer to him._

"_Listen to me very closely. You're dying. Right now, I'm the only one who can get you to a hospital in time. Tell me about Julia…where you met her, how you knew her."_

"_I wasn't kidding...'bout screwing your daughter… She's the wildest girl I ever had…"_

"_Tell me about Julia if you want to live."_

"_You want to know…how she likes it?" Simon turned over suddenly with the intention of shooting Jack, but Jack beat him to it, shooting him again. Jack stared down at the body, working his jaw furiously. He turned and walked off to his car, driving away, assuming Simon was dead._

_He was wrong. _

"Bloody mother_fucker_…" Simon sat up, whispering furiously and ripped open his shirt to look at the bullets stuck to the vest he was wearing. He unzipped it and pulled it off, leaving him shirtless. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed a number and waited as it rang.

"Hey mate, it's done." He spoke into the phone, grimacing when he looked down at his chest. Three round multi-colored bruises graced it.

"Are you positive he thinks you're dead?" The voice asked.

"Bloody fucking positive," he responded. "He only shot me three-_fucking_ times!"

"Good." The voice said, ignoring Simon's obvious anger. "The first phase is complete; the second will be complete within the hour."

"The hour?" Simon asked, surprised.

"Things went a little ahead of schedule." The voice replied.

"You sure this is how you want it?" Simon asked, his thumb absently rubbing his chin.

"Are you questioning me, _Declan_?" The voice asked. Simon laughed at the name.

"Nah, mate," He spoke, "But you're in some big shit now. Messin' with people high up on the food chain, you ready for that, _Liam_?" He made sure to punctuate the name clearly, just as the occupant on the other line had, a grin covering his features when he heard the man give a small laugh. Those were the names they had picked out for each other on their first mission together.

"You know me," The voice replied smoothly, "I'm ready."

"I do know you, mate. That's why I'm asking." For a moment the other line was silent.

"You know where to go?" The man finally asked, deciding to ignore Simon's comment.

"Yeah, but--" He stopped himself when he heard the dead line, and flipped his phone shut with a sigh. "This is going to turn into some ugly-_fucking_ shit." With that he started off to his car, and sped off to his destination.

**Chapter 1**

_I think I'm drowning_

_asphyxiating_

_I wanna break the spell_

_that you've created _

_**Osaka, Japan**_

"What was the password Sloane gave you?" Marshall asked, his hands poised over the keyboard.

"Ravenson 327." Sydney said, glancing around the room. Marshall typed in the password quickly, and they both watched as the screen flashed.

"Okay, okay…I found the virus. Oh my God…the code on this thing…All right, um…it's gonna take me a second to download a copy before I can render the virus unusable." Sydney nodded, glancing at the security camera, sucking in a breath as she saw Sark and Bomani entering the club. She let her gaze linger a moment on the blue-eyed assassin before turning back to Marshall.

"You're gonna have to hurry. Sark's here." Sydney told him, turning back to the camera. She watched as Bomani shot down a guard who stood in his way, Sark doing likewise. They were getting closer.

"Come on! Come on!" Marshall chanted, watching the numbers on the screen flash faster and faster. Sydney watched as Sark and Bomani came within five feet on the room, sighing with relief when she heard the beep of the computer.

"It's disabled!" Marshall whispered quickly, he took his device and stuck it into his pocket, and glanced at Sydney. The both watched in fear as Sark opened the door.

_you're something beautiful_

_a contradiction_

_I wanna play the game_

_I want the friction_

Sark opened the door swiftly, and walked into the room, not even bothering to see if Bomani followed. He glanced around the room, noting it was empty. He sat down behind the computer, sliding in his disc to copy the information.

"It'll take me a second to transfer a copy to our server." Sark spoke, glancing up at Bomani. The man was truly a cold blooded killer. Not to say that he wasn't, but he at least had _some_ morals. Bomani had none. But in retrospect Sark couldn't really blame the man. He had to watch his mother and sisters being raped and killed right in front him, helpless to do anything but watch. And pray.

Sark knew about praying, oddly enough. He had prayed all his childhood. Not anymore though. No. He hadn't prayed in years…many, many years. Not after his mother had supposedly died when he was a child. No- He bit the inside of his mouth until the metallic taste of blood filled it. He took a deep breath, slowly exhaling out, clearing the memories of all the blood and screaming women and children from his head. It was getting easy now.

_you will be_

_the death of me_

_yeah, you will be_

_the death of me_

Sydney held her breath as the door opened, glancing over at Marshall. If they hadn't been in the situation they were right now, she would have laughed out loud. His face was chalk-white, his eyes wide, and he was hugging his knees to his chest like a teddy bear. His breathing was getting heavy and Sydney brought a finger up to her mouth, telling him to be quiet. He nodded and she turned back and watched as Sark sat down in the seat right in front of them.

She couldn't believe she was hiding under a desk. A _desk_. The last time she had hid under a desk was when she was seven. She had been playing hide and seek with her nanny. Her _nanny_. She bit her lip at the thought. Even so many years later, she still resented her father for not being in her childhood. Would it have killed him to play with her? Just once? But apparently it would have, because he never did.

She released her lip, realizing she had drawn blood. _Why are you thinking about this?_ It wasn't the time, and definitely _not_ the place for her self pitying right now.

She turned quickly to Marshall when he tapped on her shoulder, motioning to his nose. Her eyes widened when she realized he was about to sneeze. She brought her hand up and pinched his nose, stopping him from sneezing. The stared at one another and Sydney couldn't help but bite her lip again to stop the curse that wanted to come out.

She was hiding under a desk with Marshall, holding his nose to stop him from sneezing, and hoping the cold–blooded assassin sitting in the chair in front of them wouldn't notice.

Because, _shit_, if he did…

_bury it_

_I won't let you bury it_

_I won't let you smother it_

_I won't let you murder it_

"Done." Sark said, removing the disc and standing up from the desk. Bomani nodded, and they headed for the door. Sark brought two fingers up to his mouth, touching the side. His fingers came away red with blood. He shook his head and silently cursed himself. He had to stop doing that.

He froze once he realized what was in front of him. He had stopped right before the door to touch his mouth, and had accidentally stopped only feet from what he was now looking at. He cocked his head to the side, a small smirk forming on his face. He glanced behind him at the desk, then turned back around and walked out the door, but not before picking up the item and slipping it into his pocket.

_our time is running out_

_and our time is running out_

_you can't push it underground_

_we can't stop it screaming out_

Sydney let out a sigh of relief when she heard the door shut. She let her hand drop from Marshall's nose, letting him finally sneeze, but grimaced when she felt a spray of wetness hit her arm. Marshall blushed.

"Sorry about that," he whispered, "I really think this mustache has some cat fur in it. Hey, um, you know, maybe the person who made it has a cat and—"

"Marshall," Sydney gave him a smile, "We have to go now."

"Right," he said, following Sydney as she crawled out from under the desk. "Do you think it's safe to go out yet?" his eyes were watching the door; as if he thought they would walk back in and catch them.

"We'll watch the cameras to make sure everything's clear first, then we'll go." Sydney replied, her eyes already watching as Sark and Bomani walked towards the exit. Right before Sark walked out the door, Sydney watched as he lifted his head, his eyes staring straight into the camera. Sydney sucked in a breath.

It was almost like he _knew_ she was watching him.

He finally looked away, glancing around the club once more before exciting. He didn't know she was here, did he? How could he? He can't know. He was just checking the room for threats, other spies. She would have done the same. But she wouldn't have stared at the camera, would she? Yes…no. Maybe. _Could_ he have known? No…

"Sydney?" Marshall's voice broke her out of her thoughts. "Are you, uh, ok? Do you need to sit down, you look a little white, actually, it's more of a beige—"

"I'm fine," she gave him a smile, and headed for the door. "Let's get out of here."

"Good, because I've got to get out of this mustache…" Marshall's voice became nothing but a distant mumble as her thoughts flew around her head. There was no way he knew they were there. He would have said something. Right? He couldn't…no…She absently brought her right hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear, she made sure her earring was in place. Bringing her left hand up, she felt her ear. She froze. It was gone.

Her earring was _gone_.

Her throat went dry. _He knew_…

_I wanted freedom_

_but I'm restricted_

_I tried to give you up_

_but I'm addicted_

"Are you positive he thinks you're dead?" Sark spoke into the phone. He was in a car right outside the club. It was a Mustang, a Mach 1 Coupe in Azure Blue. It was a good blue. And, true, it could be spotted easily, but it didn't make a difference to him. You would still have to catch him. And _that_ would not be easy. Sark drove fast, very fast. It was a favorite pastime of his. Sometimes he would just go out and drive. Anywhere.

He wasn't sure what he was so attracted too. Maybe it was the purr of the engine. Damn. It was like a big cat. But it could be the leather seats, the steering wheel, or the clutch. No…it was everything. All those things put together.

It was an escape route.

A weapon.

Heaven.

It was whatever he wanted it to be. Maybe that's what he liked.

_Bloody fucking sure, he only shot me three-fucking times!_

"Good." he spoke, coming out of his thoughts. "The first phase is complete; the second will be complete within the hour."

_The hour?_

"Things went a little ahead of schedule."

_You sure this is how you want it?_

"Are you questioning me, _Declan_?" Sark asked the man, a small smile on his face. The man laughed.

_Nah, mate, but you're in some big shit now. Messin' with people high up on the food chain, you ready for that, Liam?_

He gave a small laugh at the name the man used. "You know me," he replied smoothly, "I'm ready."

_I do know you, mate. That's why I'm asking._

"You know where to go?" he finally asked, ignoring what the man had said. He flipped his phone shut, already knowing the man did. _Messin' with people high up on the food chain_. The statement rang in his ears.

It was true. He was. But he was ready. He _had_ to be ready.

He didn't have a choice.

_now that you know I'm trapped_

_sense of elation_

_you'll never dream of breaking this fixation_

_you will squeeze the life out of me_

Sydney was frozen to the spot. He knew. _He knew… _He's up to something. He had to be. Why else would he not kill them? Or at least kidnap them? Where was he? Was he still here, waiting for them to come outside so he could kill them there? Shit…what was she going to do?

"Marshall," she put her hand on his shoulder. "I think Sark knows we're here."

He blanched, "What?"

"Listen to me," she said, grabbing him by both of his shoulders. "I'm going to go outside, see if I can distract him, you stay here."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"I'll be fine—" she was interrupted by the sound of many guns going off. She ducked to the ground, pulling Marshall down with her. "Stay down and follow me," she yelled out to him over the screams of people around her. He nodded, looking close to throwing up. She crawled across the floor, making sure he was following her. She finally made it to the bar, pulling Marshall in next to her.

"Stay here," she told him, pulling a gun out from her purse. "And no matter what, if someone comes, _shoot them_. Do you understand?" He swallowed and nodded, taking the gun she offered him.

_bury it_

_I won't let you bury it_

_I won't let you smother it_

_I won't let you murder it_

She grabbed her gun out of her thigh strap and peeked around the bar. The guns were still going; a bullet hit the side of the bar. She swung back around, her back hitting the wall. She gave Marshall a tight smile and made a run for a poker table that had fallen on its side. She dove behind it, two bullets hitting it at the same time. She glanced around the table, trying to get a head count of the shooters. She could see five, but that was just on one side. She slid to the other side. Six more.

_our time is running out_

_and our time is running out_

_you can't push it underground_

_we can't stop it screaming out_

_how did it come to this _

She swore. If it was just her, she could make a run for it, but with Marshall…She cursed again. Glancing around the side of the table she lifted her gun, shooting one of the men. _Who the fuck were they?_ Sark and Bomani had killed all the people who worked here. She didn't see Sark or Bomani anywhere. That didn't mean they weren't here…but Sark was never one to sit back and watch…

_you will suck the life out of me_

Suddenly everything went silent.

_bury it_

_I won't let you bury it_

_I won't let you smother it_

_I won't let you murder it_

_Shit. _What the fuck is going on? Sydney risked a glance around, noticing the men were checking the bodies. What are they doing? _Holy shit…they killed everyone! _She turned to her other side.They were getting closer to her spot behind the table. She swallowed, cracked her neck, and flew out from behind the table. She shot the two men who were getting closer to her, then dove behind another table. The rest of the men opened fire on her; she grimaced when one nicked her on the arm.

She glanced in the direction she had left Marshall. She realized it had been a mistake the moment she heard the gun cock. She slowly raised her hands.

"Put the gun down." the voice was heavily accented in Japanese. She obeyed, slowly setting the gun down on the ground.

"Turn around, slowly." the man said. She started to turn around slowly, then spun, her foot coming up to knock his gun out of his hand. He swung a fist at her, which she dodged easily. She grabbed a cue stick that was lying on the ground, and swung it, connecting squarely with the man's face. He fell. Before she even had a chance to look around, three things happened at once.

_our time is running out_

_and our time is running out_

_you can't push it underground_

_we can't stop it screaming out_

One: She heard more guns cock, these ones only a couple of feet from her.

Two: She heard gunfire erupt outside.

Three: She saw Marshall stand up, aiming the gun at the men behind her.

"Marshall _no_-" she yelled, her eyes widening in horror at what he was doing. But she knew it was too late. He got off one shot before one of the men shot him. He looked at Sydney right before he fell, a terrified look on his face.

_how did it come to this_

She heard herself scream. She felt her body throw itself to the ground, felt herself pick up her gun and let loose a stream of bullets at the men. But it was like she was numb. She didn't feel the bullets that hit her. And she almost was thankful when she fell to the ground, her eyes drooping shut as her blood flew freely out of her and onto the carpeted floors of the club. She heard someone calling her name, but she didn't care.

She didn't want anyone to save her.

She _wanted_ to die.

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

_Repercussions _

**Chapter 2**

Sark was just getting out of his car to go back into the club when he heard the gunshots. He froze, listening as people screamed bloody murder. He pulled out his gun, his back to the side of the building. _Back door. _He edged himself back, and started off for the back of the club. _Fuck_, he had a bad feeling. He slipped his hand into his jacket and pulled out his cell phone. Flipping it open, he dialed a number.

"I need a car at my location," he spoke into the phone quietly. "Somebody came for the package." He hung up. He was in front of the back door now, and he smirked at their obvious stupidity. No guards at the back door? He opened the door slowly, empty. He walked in, slowly making his way past the kitchen and to the door that entered into the club. There was a window on the door. He looked out.

His eyes widened at what he was seeing. Marshall Flinkman, the tech guy for the CIA was standing, aiming a gun at the men who had Sydney cornered. He almost smirked. Almost. Then he saw, and heard, Sydney scream for Marshall to get down when the men opened fire on him. He watched as Marshall fell down, then his attention went to Sydney, who dove for her gun, and started firing at the men. He wretched open the door when he saw that. The men opened fire on her also.

He ran out, pulling another gun out of his coat. He fired at the men, whose backs were to him. Each of his bullets hit its mark; then he dove for cover and landed behind something before they turned and fired back. He turned, firing again. _Five to go. _He then noticed he had dove behind a small bar. He stared at the open alcohol bottles for a moment.

He grabbed two bottles, and found a rag on a shelf, which he ripped apart. He opened the bottles and stuffed the rags in them. He looked around for a lighter, but didn't see one. _Fuck._ Something caught his eye, or rather, someone. The bartender, who was dead, was laying only a couple of feet from him. Crawling, he made it over and searched through the man's pockets.

_Bingo. _

He pulled the lighter out of the man's left pocket and scrambled back to the bottles of alcohol. He light each one, watching as the flames came to life startlingly fast. He grabbed the bottles, took a deep breath, and threw them over the bar as hard as he could. He heard one crash and land, and he heard a man cry out as a bottle hit him. Sark stood up, guns in hands, and started firing.

_She was walking down a white hall. No windows, and only one door, which she was walking towards. She glanced down at herself. She was wearing black op gear. She came to a stop in front of the door. She opened it. _

_She was outside, green grass, blue skies. She heard a voice, a little girl. She was singing. _

"_Ring around the rosie, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down!" The girl was spinning around, and fell down as she spoke the last line. She looked up at Sydney. "Silly Sydney, you have to fall down!" Sydney's body fell, she tried to grab something, but there was nothing. _

_She was on a mountain._

_A man was standing only feet from her. He turned around, smiling at her. _

"_Sydney, my dear," he said, motioning to a table and chairs that appeared to the side of them. "Sit down." She walked over and sat down, watching as he did the same._

"_Am I dead?" She asked the question quietly. _

"_Yes. No." He shrugged. "They are just words. What do they mean?" _

"_I don't know." _

"_Do you know who I am, Sydney?" He asked, pouring himself some tea from the glass teapot on the table. She nodded. _

"_Milo Rambaldi." He nodded as well, sipping his tea. _

"_That I am." He said. "Do you know why you are here?"_

"_No." She spoke, frowning. "Yes…I, I failed." _

"_In what?" He asked. _

"_I don't…I don't remember." _

"_You know, Sydney." He said, setting his teacup down. "It's here," he pointed to his head, "and here," he pointed to his heart. _

"_But I don't…I failed..." she whispered, confused. _

"_You try, you fail. You try, you fail. But the only real failure is when you stop trying, Sydney." He said this in a singsong voice, then stood up, and walked to the edge of the mountain. _

"_But what am I trying?" She asked, walking over to him. _

"_To live, Sydney." He said with a smile, wrapping his hand around her left wrist. "You are trying to live." _

"_But I'm dead…" She trailed off, unsure. _

"_Are you?" He asked, raising an eyebrow._

"_I don't—" She stopped, clutching her chest as a sharp pain rang through it. She looked up at him. "What are you doing to me?" She whispered, falling to the ground in pain. _

"_I am letting you try again, Sydney." He said. He smiled at her and dove off the side of the mountain. Before she could even comprehend what had just happened, she clutched her chest again in pain. She fell onto her back, screaming. _

_Somewhere in Japan…_

"Clear!" Sark gripped the gun in his hand tighter when he heard the doctor shout again. His eyes were focused on the blue tile floor as he sat in an uncomfortable green plastic chair. After getting Sydney, he had carried her to his car and driven straight here. No hospitals. Never hospitals, no matter what.

He had come barging in, an almost dead Sydney in his arms, yelling for the doctor.

The doctor had told him he didn't take walk-ins. Sark had put his gun to the man's head and told him he did now. The man agreed and had one of his assistants help him carry Sydney into another room.

That had been two hours ago. The doctor told him she had been shot once in the left arm, and one had nicked her on the side. She'd lost a lot of blood. He wasn't sure…

"She dies," Sark had gritted out, his gun against the man's forehead, "you die." The doctor had nodded, and was now trying to save not only Sydney's life, but his own as well.

Sark slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out the lighter he had nabbed off the dead bartender. It was a Zippo lighter, silver with a cross on it. Why had he kept it? He hadn't even realized he _had_ kept it until he had set Sydney down and it had fallen out of his pocket. He almost threw it out. Almost. Why should he keep it? Despite his thoughts, he put it back it his pocket.

Maybe he would start smoking.

No.

He hated the smell.

"There's no pulse." The nurse spoke, glancing outside the room at the blond man holding the gun. She swallowed hard. She believed him when he said he would kill the doctor. He would probably kill her to if the woman died. She turned back to the doctor. He met her eyes, nodded once.

"Clear!" He shouted again, placing the pads of the defibrillator onto the woman's chest again. Her body jumped as the shock went through it. The nurse glanced at the heart monitor, almost jumping with joy when she read it.

"She's got a pulse!" Sark's head snapped up when he heard the nurse shout. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He stood and walked into the room, coming to stand next to the doctor.

"She'll be ok?" He asked, glancing down at the pale and bloody form of Sydney Bristow.

"Now that we've got her stable," the doctor replied, "She'll make it."

"When can we leave?" He asked, already pulling out his phone.

"Leave?" The doctor asked, shocked. "You can't take her anywhere—"

"Have her ready in an hour." Sark replied, exciting the room. He walked down the hall, and stopped once he rounded the corner. His back hit the wall and he slid down it, coming to a rest on the floor. His head went into his hands. He breathed in, exhaling out slowly.

She was alive.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Sydney woke up to the smell of…flowers? It was an odd fragrance, one she couldn't quite pinpoint. It was a mix between a sweet smelling strawberry and a lilac. Odd, but the concoction it made was intoxicating. She breathed in again. The smell was gone.

She opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the lamp beside her bed. She swallowed. Her throat was dry. She winced at the pain in her shoulder and side. It hurt just to breathe. She looked around the room without sitting up. It contained only the bed, a lamp, and a small table with medical supplies.

She froze once she had taken in the room. She wasn't in a hospital. That meant whoever had fixed her wasn't CIA—

_Marshall._

The memory of him being shot was still fresh in her mind. He had fallen to the ground. Was he dead? Was he still lying there on the ground of the club, bleeding to death?

She made up her mind. She was getting out of here.

She sat up very slowly, very painfully, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She put one foot on the ground, then the other. She stood. She grabbed the bed as a wave of nausea swept over her. Once it past, she walked over to the table and glanced at the objects. The only weapon was a syringe. She picked it up, gripping it in her right hand tightly.

She walked slowly towards the door, stopping to listen for any noises. She heard voices coming closer to the door. She glanced wildly around the room. What was she going to do?

----------

"Did it really hit the guy, Jul?" Simon asked him skeptically as they walked down the hall. He had arrived an hour ago, coming straight to the house after Sark told him what had happened.

"I swear it hit him," Sark said, glancing at his friend, "I threw them at the same time, I heard one bottle hit the floor and break, then I heard a man cry out as the other bottle hit him."

"Curse you to bloody hell if you're lying, mate." Simon said, shaking his head twice.

"Jealous, _mate_?" Sark mocked him. Simon just shook his head, a grin covering his features. Sark stopped abruptly in front of a door; he gave Simon a questioning look. _Are you ready?_ Simon nodded, his features turning sullen. Sark slowly opened the door, stepping inside the room, Simon following. Sark looked at the bed, turning around swiftly.

"Simon!" Sark's shout was too late as Sydney came up behind the man and stuck the needle in his shoulder.

"_Fuck_!" Simon yelled, trying to grab the needle. Sydney pulled it out before he could, only to stab him again. He cried out, bucking back against her. She pulled it out, intending to stick it in again when her arm was pulled back, a hand gripping her wrist tightly.

She turned around, twisting her hand out of the grip. She swung, the needle connecting with Sark's shoulder, leaving behind a deep gash. Sark cursed. She swung again, but was stopped, this time by a pair of arms wrapping around her, pinning her arms down by her sides. She kicked out wildly, trying to get free, but the arms wouldn't budge.

Sydney stopped moving, her breaths coming in short gasps. She couldn't breath. Her arm ached, her side hurt. She couldn't breathe…

She heard Sark call out to her before she fell unconscious.

----------

"Fuck me Freddy," Simon cursed, trying to reach behind him to check out his shoulder. They were still in the room with Sydney, Sark was checking her wounds, and Simon was checking his own. "These are going to leave nasty bruises, mate."

"You better hope the stitches on her side didn't open back up." Sark said, giving Simon a glare. Simon raised his hands in the air, a sign of helplessness.

"Hey, mate, if I hadn't of done something," he pointed to Sark's shoulder, "she would've done more of that." Sark looked at his shoulder, grimacing. There was a diagonal gash across it, blood still oozing out of it. Sark reached down and pulled his shirt over his head, using it to wipe off the blood.

"We need to disinfect these." He said, looking up at Simon, who was already grabbing the alcohol bottle and cotton swabs. He soaked some and threw them to Sark, who caught them and started cleaning his wound. Simon did the same.

"I need some gauze," Sark said, noticing that the gash was deeper then he had thought. He caught it as Simon threw it at him, and started wrapping it around his arm. He tucked the end in when he was done, glancing up at Simon. "You good?"

"Yeah," Simon said, looking at Sark's shoulder, "I think you got the better deal, yours must sting like hell, but mine's gonna hurt like a fuck for weeks." Sark nodded, turning back to Sydney.

"We've got to make sure she doesn't do that again," He said, "I doubt the stitches in her side will hold again." Simon nodded.

"Shall I go grab us some chairs?" He left before Sark could respond, already knowing the answer. Sark watched him leave, his gaze turning back to Sydney. She looked pale, but not as white as before. She was getting better. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, letting his hand hover over her cheek. He looked at her left shoulder, where she had been shot; making sure the bandage was secure. His eyes skimmed over her arm, down to her finger tips. His gaze froze.

There was something on her wrist.

He lifted her arm gently, turning her wrist over in his hand.

He stopped breathing.

On the inside of her wrist, something had been burned into it.

He breathed in deeply.

A mark.

He held his breath.

A mark, that hadn't been there earlier.

He exhaled out.

The Rambaldi mark.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_She was dreaming again. _

_This time she was in the woods. Everything was green. There was a mist hovering in between the trees, you could see what was in front of you, no further. She walked, stopping when she saw something standing in front of her. _

_It was a black panther. _

_It was sitting on the ground, watching her. She stared at it for awhile, waiting. Finally, she spoke._

"_Where am I?" She asked, knowing somehow the cat would respond. _

"_You are dreaming." The cat replied without moving its mouth. _

"_Who are you?" _

"_Dagda." He said, meeting her brown eyes with his pitch black ones. _

"_I don't understand." _

"_You will." He stood and started walking off, leaving Sydney behind. _

"_Wait!" She called after him, "I don't understand…" But it was too late, he was gone. She cried out as she felt a searing pain on her left wrist. She brought it up to her face. Her eyes widened. Something had been burned into her skin… _

_The mark of Rambaldi. _

_She screamed._

----------

Sark cried out as the burn on Sydney's wrist came to life, scorching hot. His thumb had been touching it. He stared in astonishment as the mark turned red hot, then white. All of the sudden it stopped, like a snap of a finger.

The colors were gone.

The burn looked like it had before.

"What the fuck is going on it here?" Simon asked, bringing the two chairs he had gotten over to Sark. He sat down, watching Sark do the same. "I leave for two minutes and come back to this weird shit?"

"I found this burn on her wrist," He showed Simon the Rambaldi sign. Simon looked up at Sark, a frown covering his features.

"That's…" He trailed off when Sark nodded. "Well why the fuck was it having a light show?"

"I don't know." He lied. He did have an idea…but it wasn't something he wanted to share right now. Simon raised an eyebrow.

"That so, mate?" He asked suspiciously. Sark looked away. _He looked away. _Simon was the only person in the world he would look away from. Why? Because Simon knew him, he knew him well…

"I have an idea," He finally replied, surprised Simon wasn't pressuring him for an answer. Damn. He knew him _too_ well. "but I'm not certain."

"Fine," Simon said, changing the subject. If there was one major rule about knowing Julian Lazarey, it would be that you never pressure him. Now, Simon was usually the one to break that rule, but this time he knew it wouldn't happen. _Not this time._ His mind was made up. He glanced down at Sydney. "How long do you think she'll be out?"

"An hour maybe—" Sark's sentence was cut off and proved wrong when Sydney suddenly shot up in bed. She was breathing frantically, like she had been running. She froze once she realized where she was and who she was with. She turned her head slowly, glancing at Simon, then Sark.

She lifted her wrist up, staring at the burn on her hand. _It was real._ She had talked to Milo Rambaldi, in her dreams, no less. She closed her eyes. She was tired. Her eyelids ached. There were so many thoughts racing through her head. Her whole left arm ached. It was hard to breath. Her chest hurt. Where was she? Why did Sark save her? Why was Simon here? Was Marshall alive? Why was she dreaming about Rambaldi? Why did she have this burn?

"Sydney…" Sark spoke, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room. Goose bumps had risen on his arms when Sydney had brought her wrist up. She knew. How?_ How did she know?_ "You've been shot in the arm, and one grazed your side. You need to rest."

Sydney took her gaze away from her wrist, looking at Sark. She could feel herself shaking. She was shaking down to her bones. She was cold. No. She was scared. Why? Because a five-hundred and sixty-two year old prophet had visited her in her dreams and burned his sign into her wrist? Now, why would _that_ scare her? Sark's voice brought her back to reality. She turned back to him.

"Sydney?" He asked again, frowning at her. "Did you hear me?"

_Did you hear me? _Did she hear him? Yes. But was this just another dream? She closed her eyes tightly. How would she know? No. She couldn't be dreaming. _No._ This was real. She was lying on a bed in a room with Sark and Simon. That was real. _That was reality. _

That was reality.

Shit.

_That was reality. _

"Why am I here?" She finally spoke, eyes still closed. _Why **was** she here?_

"Sydney, those men were there to take you." Sark said, watching her face closely. She seemed to be sorting through her thoughts. "They—" he stopped himself. She didn't need to know yet. Not yet. He would tell her later. "I brought you to a doctor, but you have to rest."

She opened her eyes, lifted her hand. It was still shaking. She pulled her hand into a fist tightly. She watched as the burn turned white from the lack of blood. She unclenched it, watching as it raced back. She turned, catching Sark's gaze.

"Why?" She asked again. Why had he helped her? How did she know he had helped her? Those could have been his men. No. They weren't. She knew this somehow. But why? _Why?_

"I'll answer your questions later, Sydney." Sark said softly. "You need to rest. So I either give you a sedative, or you rest on your own. I know you don't want the sedative, so I'm giving you a choice. What will it be, Sydney?"

They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity. Brown on blue. And, god, how they _were_ blue. Sydney had taken a yoga class once and she remembered what the instructor had said about blue.

"_Blue belongs to the Planet Venus, the giver of Love, devotion and harmony. Its stone is the Amethyst, the super-sacred of the seven jewels. Pale blue in the aura represents devotion, while dark blue shows fanaticism. Blue is idealistic, smug, creative, dogmatic…"_

And hell, if those didn't describe Sark, she didn't know what did. But his eyes…you could call them blue, but what a _huge_ understatement that would be. They were cerulean. They were azure. They were glorious. They were magnificent. They just…were. But more then that, they were like doors. And she knew that if he opened them, she would be able to see everything. _Who was she kidding? _She was talking about Sark.

The enigma.

She closed her eyes, falling back onto the bed. The sheets were soft; the pillow was yielding. She was tired. _So tired._ Everything hurt. Her head felt heavy. She would rest. Then she would get her answers.

----------

The acid taste of vomit rose up in her throat again. She threw up, her hands supporting her body over the porcelain bowl of the toilet. She had awakened in a cold sweat for the second time that night, this time feeling a sickness so strong she had barely managed to get to the bathroom in time.

"Fuck," She spat out, hating what her body was doing. But the worst part of all was that the bathroom was located the hallway, right between Sark's room and Simon's room. They could probably hear everything she did. "Fucking _wonderful_."

It had only been last night that she had woken up to find Sark watching her. Thinking about the conversation between them only made her want to throw up again. In that one conversation, she had completely changed her life.

----------

"_Why am I here?" She asked, cautiously sipping the tea he had brought her. She figured if he was planning on poisoning her, he would have done so already._

"_Sydney," Sark began carefully, "Those men who you fought, they were mercenaries."_

"_Mercenaries?" She was surprised. "Why were they coming after me?" _

"_Because you have something they want," he said, "something many people are willing to pay a high price for." Fuck, this was harder then he had thought. It wasn't something he was particularly fond of, delivering news like this. _

"_And what would that be?" She set her steaming mug down. She had a feeling this was big. _

_He made sure he was staring directly into her eyes. "It is said in the Rambaldi prophecy that his second coming is by way of a child." Her eyes dropped from his, she didn't move. Every muscle in her body was frozen to the spot. A child? If he was telling her this…then that meant…No. It wasn't possible. Rambaldi was dead. There was no DNA. It just wasn't possible. No. It couldn't be…_

"_Are you telling me," she swallowed, meeting his eyes straight on, "that the prophecy says that **I** will deliver this…child?"_

"_Yes." Straight. Simple. Easy. Right, if only that were the truth. _

"_Are you sure?" She had to know, to make sure this wasn't just some horrible dream. _

"_Yes." Another simple answer. And damn, he wasn't giving away anything in his features. A perfect mask. _

"_How…I mean how could that happen?" _

"_We believe the Covenant has a male blood relative of Rambaldi in their possession." _

"_So they want to what?" She gave a small laugh, "make me have sex with this guy?"_

"_No, Sydney." He said, ignoring her laugh. "They'll just take your eggs and find another woman to carry them." She blanched. _

"_So they don't even need me." _

"_Scientifically, no," he said, "the only things needed are your eggs. They could easily find a woman and artificially inseminate her."_

"_That easy, huh?" she asked softly, staring at the wall. _

"_That easy." He repeated her, because it was true. It was easy, too damn easy in his opinion. Of course, they didn't have—no, it didn't matter. He knew. Simon knew. No one else did, or ever would know the truth._

"_So, what, you felt bad about it and wanted to help me?" She finally asked, sarcastically, "That's why I'm here?" _

"_You could say that," he said, she gave a snort. "Or not." _

"_Then why?" She asked again, "you plan on selling me to the highest bidder?" _

"_No." He said, sighing softly. "I'm trying to help you, Sydney. I don't believe in this Rambaldi prophecy. Actually, I think it's a load of horse shit, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm helping you, and if you were smart, which I know you are, you would realize that. If I was going to sell you, I would have done so already. You know that." _

_She did know that, of course. But that didn't mean it wasn't going to happen. He could easily be trying to trick her into behaving, only to sell her out later on. But, honestly, what did she have to lose? Herself, and possibly her future children, but other then that, there was nothing. Except her father, but she could find a way to contact him. So what should she do? Grab hold of this peace offering, which could possibly lead to her downfall, or go back to her old life, which could possibly lead to her downfall also. _

_Which was the greater evil? **That** was the question. _

_If she were to stay here, she could start a new life. Granted it would involve running, hiding, fighting, and so forth. But at least she wouldn't have anyone to worry about other then herself. She didn't need to get another person killed. Marshall…_

_Was he even alive? Sark said he made sure the CIA got Marshall to safety, but other then that he wasn't sure. She'd have to ask her father how he was doing when she contacted him, which she would, and soon. _

_Her mind was made up. _

_She was staying. _

_She wasn't going to endanger anyone else. If mercenaries were after her, they would never stop, and they wouldn't care if they killed a bystander- her father, Weiss, Vaughn, even Lauren. _

_Vaughn. She hated thinking about him. She knew logically he should have moved on, like he did. She just couldn't shake off the thought that she would have waited. But it wasn't just that, there was so much tension. Sitting across from each other at the debriefings, it just wasn't fair. He was married. She could live with that. And Lauren…she seemed nice. That was the worst part, the fact that she couldn't be mad at Lauren. She just didn't have it in her to be mad at that woman. _

_And god did **that** annoy her. _

_So this was it. Her old life was over. She was starting a new one. One where the only priority she had was to protect herself. She just wished it was as easy as it sounded. _

"_Ok," She said finally, her eyes locked with his. "But I know you're not telling me something, which I will find out. And if you betray me...even if it takes me the rest of my life, I will hunt you down, and I **will** kill you." _

"_Understood," Sark said. He smirked. "I told you we were destined to work together." _

_----------_

The cold tile floor of the bathroom felt wonderful on her face. Her stomach had settled down somewhat, and so she felt it was safe enough to take her head off the toilet. She tried to clear her thoughts. Her head was killing her. It was the antibiotics she was on. Her body had never liked them, but they were the only kind on hand. They couldn't risk her getting an infection. But right now she would rather have the infection.

She crawled to her knees quickly, her head barely making it into the toilet before vomiting again. She dry heaved for a minute, having nothing left in her stomach. She jumped when she felt a warm hand touch her shoulder. She turned. It was Sark. She turned back around, heaving again. She could feel a blush creeping across her face. She didn't want him seeing her like this.

He waited until she was done before setting something down beside her. She glanced at what it was- a can of ginger ale. She turned to thank him, but the room was empty, the door closed. She watched it for a moment, turning back to the toilet as she heaved again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Sark thought about last night, the image of Sydney on the floor in the bathroom had been burned into his head. He had been up and heard her in there, heard her vomiting up the contents of her stomach. She had said it was the antibiotics. That they didn't mix well with her. And, after witnessing her in the bathroom, he believed her.

She had been in there for a half hour before he decided to get her the ginger ale. He remembered how his mother used to give him that to drink when he was sick. He had opened the door softly, surprised she hadn't notice. She was sitting on the floor, her head hanging over the toilet. He had wanted to pull her hair back, but resisted the urge. He had gently put his hand on her shoulder, trying not to scare her. It didn't work. She jumped. She turned around, catching his eyes before spinning back around to the toilet.

He had carefully set the can down next to her and quickly exited. He hadn't thought she would want him to stay. She was like him- so he doubted she would have wanted an audience watching her as she threw up. But even while vomiting…she still held an air of confidence and defiance about her, which, in his book, was a rather hard feat to accomplish.

His thoughts flew away as he watched the screen in front of him flash again and again. He was beginning to get hypnotized. Flashing over and over and over- his head snapped up when he heard the door to his office open. Simon walked in. He sat down on a black leather chair, his eyes wondering around the room. They finally settled on Sark.

"You know she's going to find out," he said, his hand playing with a string on his shirt.

"She won't," Sark replied, turning away from Simon's stare. "She can't."

"So, what, you're just going to gain her trust and hope she never finds out?" Simon asked him, an angry tone in his voice.

"What good would it do to tell her?" Sark asked, his tone matching Simon's.

"Does it really matter?" Simon replied, standing up quickly. He started pacing. "She deserves to know. If you were in her position, wouldn't you want to know?"

"I-" he stopped with a sigh, looking back at Simon. "You and I both know that if I tell her, she'll never trust me. And she needs our help. I promised Irina. We _both_ did." The last part made Simon stop. His shoulders slumped.

"Yeah, mate," he said, defeated. Sark was right. They _had_ promised. And he wasn't about to break that. "I just have a feeling…things aren't going to turn out the way we thought."

"I know…" Sark said, his friends thought echoing in his head even after he left, the door shutting behind him. _Things aren't going to turn out the way we thought. _He didn't think they would…he didn't think they would at all.

----------

Sydney pulled the sweater tightly around her as she opened the door to her bedroom and went into the hallway. She had finally gotten back to her room last night and gotten some sleep. Now her stomach was growling, but she didn't want to chance any solid food yet. She wasn't inclined to get that close to the toilet again for a _long_ time. She took her last dosage of antibiotics last night, so hopefully all the vomiting would end.

She walked down the hall, a little unsure where things were. She had only been in the bedroom and bathroom. Hell, she didn't even know where she was. She didn't know what country. What city. What house. She walked around the corner, seeing a set of stairs going down. She looked down the hallway, then shrugged, and started down them.

----------

His muscles bunched as his hands gripped the floor board and pulled. The board came off with a loud screech. He threw it into the trash can next to him, hearing it make a thumping noise as it collided with the others already there. He stretched his arms back, working out the kinks that had formed. He surveyed the room.

It was a big, old, the walls obviously had been torn down, their insides now out. The wood floor in the room was now halfway gone, revealing another wood floor, this one with even bigger, darker boards, clearly very old. The room was sunny; four huge windows lined the wall opposite to him, showing out onto an enormous manicured lawn. He had bought this house from an old man, who had said, 'it needed a little work'.

An understatement of the century that had been, but it was fine with him; it gave him something to do. Something he actually felt good doing, he felt accomplished as he finished one room after the other. The house itself was more then two-hundred years old. It had hundreds of acres of land, almost all of it undisturbed. It was beautiful out there. He glanced back down at the floor and bent down again, grabbing another board in his hands.

----------

She couldn't stop herself from following the loud noises, it lead her to a doorway. She stopped outside, not wanting to be noticed by the occupant yet. Her eyes widened when she saw who it was. Sark. Sark was ripping up the floor in the room. But not only that…he was also shirtless. She didn't even try to stop herself from admiring him.

Her eyes started from the top down. His blond hair, which now had a fine dusting of dirt covering it, was a dirty blond. The curls were even curly now, the ends coiled from the sweat dripping down his face. Perfect for grabbing- _No._ She was _not_ going to think about that. Her eyes drifted to his face, which he had just wiped a hand across. There was no denying he was a handsome man. With his blue eyes, strong nose, and that adorable and completely sexy crooked lip that was just begging to be…well, she didn't have anything to complain about in that area.

She moved her eyes downward, stopping at his shoulders. They were good shoulders, strong, straight, and sculpted. Perfect. What caught her eyes next were his arms. He had _nice_ arms. They were defined, they had muscle, but at the same time, they weren't huge muscle-man arms. No- they were more like they were born good-looking, and he just added on and made them, well…_really_ good looking. Her eyes moved to his chest. It looked soft, smooth, but strong. Perfect for running your hands over- _get a grip_.

He had a flat stomach, a light dusting of blond hair on it leading to…jeans. She sighed mentally. _What?_ Was she expecting him to be removing a floor, naked? No…but it wouldn't exactly have bothered her if he had been. Her eyes moved to his back, which was now staring directly at her. She almost snorted. It just wasn't fair. His back had muscles too. It was a nice back, a _very_ nice back.

Everything about him was perfect…and for some reason, that annoyed her to no end. He was this cocky, arrogant, son of a bitch…and had everything to back it up with. And the worst part- he knew it. He _knew_ he was good-looking. He _knew_ he was a son of a bitch. And he didn't care. Yeah…that annoyed her.

She watched as he brought his hand up and wiped at the sweat dripping from his face. She almost sighed aloud when he started pulling up another board. The muscles in his arms and back bunched, giving her a very pleasant view. She had a thing about backs and arms. Vaughn had nice arms- No. She didn't want to think about Vaughn. She wanted to think about Sark. She stifled a laugh when she realized what she was doing. She was checking out Sark.

_Sark. _

The cold-blooded killer, the enigma, and the man she had just agreed to work with.

Damn, her life was complicated.

She turned on her heel, heading in the direction she hoped to be the kitchen.

----------

The direction had turned out to be right, and she was now sitting at a big wooden table, sipping a mug of hot tea. She was gazing out the window located at the front of the table, admiring the lush landscape. She had a feeling they might be in Italy. The grounds outside were beautiful, stunning. But those words didn't even come close to describing them. She had noticed grape vines and what she thought to be an olive tree. _Definitely Italy. _

Her gaze switched to the door as it opened. Simon walked in. He paused when he saw she was there. They stared at one another, Simon breaking it as he walked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. He snapped the lid off and came over to the table, giving her a questioning look. She nodded, and he sat down.

"I didn't know you knew Sark." Sydney finally broke the silence. Her eyes switched from the window to Simon. He laughed.

"Straight to the point, eh?" He asked, grinning. "No foreplay?"

"I figured you wouldn't want to talk about the weather," she said, trying her best to hide her smile. "But, hey, if you want me to beat it out of you…"

"You are one hell of a woman, babe." He said, the grin still covering his features. "But, no, you don't have to beat it out of me. I'll play nice, but only if you will."

"I'll be nice." She said with a sweet smile, bringing her mug to her mouth.

"Why don't I believe you?" He questioned.

"Because you're a smart man," she replied, taking a sip of her tea. They stared at one another again, waiting. Simon took a swig of his beer, then set in down on the table.

"Yeah, I know Sark." He finally said. She waited for him to say more. He remained silent. She watched him as he fiddled with his bottle. He had started to peel the label off. He was…nervous? She didn't know him well enough to know his habits, but she had a feeling he was hiding something.

"For how long?"

"A long time," he said, finishing off his beer. He stood up, threw the bottle into the garbage and came to stand next to her. "Jul and I grew up together. But that's all I can tell you." She stood up, only inches from his face now. Their eyes connected.

"That's all?" She asked quietly, her warm breath brushed across his face softly. She smelled like peach tea. He leaned in closer, his mouth coming to a stop next to her ear.

"Do you really think you're up for this babe?" He asked, lifting his hands up and pulling her sweater open to reveal a tank top. He reached his hand up and brushed the bandage that covered her shoulder. She winced. He pulled back, watching her face. She lifted her chin up defiantly. He gave a small laugh and backed away from her, heading for the door.

"Just like your mother." He muttered quietly before disappearing. She sat back down, too tired to go after him. She would find out what he knew about her mother later. Right now she was just content to sit at the table and drink her tea.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Smack_. A grunt.

_So if you're lonely  
You know I'm here waiting for you  
I'm just a crosshair  
I'm just a shot away from you  
_

_Smack_. A tired sigh.

_And if you leave here  
You leave me broken, shattered, I lie  
I'm just a crosshair  
I'm just a shot, then we can die_

She had been working out for the past hour. Normally she could work out for hours, but with two bullet wounds…it was a little hard, especially since one had nicked her side. She was still healing from that. Her breathing had a slight hitch in it. It bothered her, particularly now when she was trying to work out. She had run five miles before giving up. She had fallen to her knees, unable to get enough oxygen into her lungs. She had actually just _sat_ there for ten minutes before she could breathe normally again.

_I know I won't be leaving here with you _

I say don't you know  
You say you don't know  
I say... take me out!

She was now hitting the punching bag, her fists wrapped in white tape. Her breathing was starting to leave her. She gave it two more punches before stopping. She sat down on the floor, her arms resting on her knees, her head between her legs. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing. She shouldn't be pushing herself so hard. She should be taking it one step at a time. She gave a small laugh. Right, like she ever took anything one step at a time.

_I say you don't show  
Don't move, time is slow  
I say... take me out –_

She lifted her head when she heard the music stop. It was Sark. He had just flipped the switch, turning the stereo off. He looked her over, his eyes coming to a rest on her haggard looking face. He gave his head a shake and walked over to her. He stopped once he was in front of her, and crouched down. He lifted her left arm; the one wrapped in gauze, up and moved it to the side. She winced.

"You're going to hurt yourself," he said, he dropped her arm back down. "You probably already have." She gave a small snort.

"I'm fine," she said, pulling herself up into a standing position. Sark shook his head and gave a laugh.

"Do you ever admit when you're wrong?" His eyes locked with hers.

"Not when I'm right," she said, crossing her arms defiantly. "I could take you on, right here, right now, and win." The smirk that had formed on his face now turned into a full fledged grin.

"You think you could take me on," he said, the amusement clear in his voice. "Right here, right now, and _win_?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" She asked, "Let's do it."

"Sydney, I'm not going to fight you now. In fact," He said, walking towards the door. "I'm going to leave before things go any further." He was almost to the door when Sydney's voice stopped him.

"Hey pansy-ass," she yelled, "Are you too chicken to take me on?"

He stopped, turning around, an astonished look on his face. "Did you really just call me a _pansy-ass_?"

"That's what it sounded like," she said, a smirk covering her features, "_Pansy-ass_." Sark walked back over to her, coming to a stop in front of her.

"Sydney—"

She swung her fist, connecting with the left side of his face. His head snapped to the side, and he slowly turned back. He brought his hand up and wiped at his mouth, coming away with blood. He pressed his lips together, obviously not enjoying himself. He started to turn around, leaving, when she crouched down, her leg swinging out. He fell, his back hitting the ground loudly.

"Come on Sark," she mocked him, coming to stand over him. "Fight me."

He sat up slowly, that mask of his in perfect place. Before she knew what had happened, she was on her back, Sark standing over her. He didn't look happy. "I'm not fighting you, Sydney." He turned around again, but she wasn't having that. She kicked her leg out, hitting the back of his knee. He fell down on one knee, his hand covering the other. Before he could react, she dove at him, her momentum pushing them both onto the floor.

They both grunted as the cold concrete connected with them. Sydney landed on top, but before she could use that to her advantage, Sark twisted them around. They rolled around on the floor for a good five minutes before finally stopping, both breathing heavily. They both rolled onto their backs, gaining their breath back.

Sydney stared at the ceiling, many thoughts flying through her head. What the hell was she doing? Sark and she were rolling around on the floor like a couple of kindergarteners. She never could stand people telling her what to do, especially Sark. So why was she doing this? Because she just _had _to prove him wrong. She couldn't help it. She had a problem. She could admit that. What she couldn't- no, _wouldn't_ do, was admit that he was right, even if he _did_ happen to be right…

What the hell was he doing? He had been reduced to rolling around on the floor. _Rolling on the floor…_that is what Sydney Bristow had reduced him too. _God…that woman._ She could make him so angry, but at the same time…he couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was when she did it. No. No…he was _not_ attracted to her. He couldn't be. It would destroy the whole reason she was here. But at the same time…

Damn. He was screwed.

"Have you had your fun yet?" Sark finally asked, pushing his thoughts away.

"Fun?" Sydney repeated sarcastically. "You think I'm having fun? I'm just proving a point."

"And what would that be?" He asked with a sigh.

"That I can beat you," she said. She sat up, leaning on an elbow over him. She bent her head down, stopping just inches from his face. "Any time, any place."

"Does telling yourself that help you sleep at night?" He asked with a smirk.

"Does telling yourself that you can beat me help _you_ sleep at night?" They stared at each other, then both laughed. Once their laughter had died down, Sydney's gaze went to her hands, which were sitting in her lap.

"What are we going to do?" Her voice was soft, a hint of fear in it. She looked up at him, a tear rolled down her cheek. "What am _I_ going to do?" Sark had been silent; finally, he looked at her. He tilted her chin up with his hand; met her eyes.

"We're going to kill them all."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Sark toyed with the pencil in his hand, twisting it around in circles. His life had now become much more complicated. The reason Sydney was here would be completely destroyed if they…No. It couldn't happen. No matter how much he wanted, and he _wanted_ it, it wasn't possible. He was honoring his promise to Irina, and in doing so, putting himself in even greater danger. The secret would come out soon, and when it did…well, he didn't want to be around when it happened. How the fuck was it possible that he was the only living relative of Rambaldi?

_He_ was related to Rambaldi. Out of all the people on this earth, it just had to be _him_. How did he know this? His father had told him, his father, whom he hated. He despised the man. But even saying that, he still worked with the man. His father wasn't related to Rambaldi though, it had been his mother. She was dead, of course, so that left only him. He had known about Rambaldi since he was a child; his mother would tell him stories about the great prophet 'Rambaldi'.

At the time he had been proud to be related to this man. This great prophet and _he_ was related to him. But once he had learned everything…once he learned what a burden it was, he had wished it wasn't true. Simon knew. They had grown up together; they were brothers, even if not by blood. Sark had learned long ago blood is not stronger. No, blood was just a formality. The only family he had was Simon, and he valued that more then he would ever let anyone know.

His father…his father was a bastard. He was a bastard to his wife, Sark's mother, but at the time, Sark was only a child. He had loved his father. Lazarey had another child too; the mother, Sark had no idea. He was Sark's half-brother, Nikolai. He was older then Sark by only one year, but they had bonded well together.

Sark had always been Lazarey's favorite. And Nikolai had hated that. He had always been jealous of Sark, jealous that he never got the attention he wanted. But it wasn't because Sark was better, they were both matched evenly. No, it was because of who Sark was related to. Sark wasn't better at shooting, or fighting; nothing. They had always been equal, and Nikolai couldn't stand that. They had never fought, per say, they had gotten along, but there was always the underlining of something else.

Lazarey had always wanted them to be rivals; to have a dislike for each other, though they never did. As children, they had never understood what their father had wanted. But as Sark got older, he understood, his father soldiers; assassins. He didn't want his children to like each other. He wanted them to compete. He didn't want them close to each other. But contrary to his wants, they did become friends, though they never told their father that.

But once Sark was old enough, Lazarey had sent him to live with Irina. Nikolai had stayed. After that he had only seen them once a month, when they came to 'visit'. Of course Sark knew his father had only come to see how he was progressing.

That's where Sark had met Simon. Irina had found Simon on a train; he had tried to steal her wallet. She had liked him, and finding out from him he was an orphan, had brought him back to her home. He had trained with Sark, and they had become friends.

When they were around seventeen, Lazarey had sent Nikolai to live with them. The three of them, Sark, Simon, and Nikolai had bonded together well. But Nikolai only was with them for four years before Lazarey called him back. He had left without protest, though Sark believed Nikolai had not wanted to go.

Then, Nikolai…Sark had watched as his brother became a lap dog for Lazarey. He followed him around like a puppy, doing only what he was told. Eventually the visits became few, then fewer, then none. He knew Lazarey called Irina, but he never talked to Sark. He hadn't seen Nikolai or his father in years. Sark kept tabs on them, of course, and he knew his father did the same. Lazarey ran a shipping business, but what he was shipping wasn't exactly legal. Nikolai was supposedly his right hand man.

Sark was broken out of his thoughts as he involuntarily broke the pencil he had been holding. He dropped it, watching as the pieces fell to the floor. His head snapped up as his cell phone rang. He picked it up.

"Sark," He snapped into the phone. He hated thinking about his father. He listened to the person on the other line speak, he swallowed. _Shit._ "Fine, let him in."

His father was here.

----------

"Julian, my son," Adrian Lazarey spoke warmly, holding his arms out. Sark didn't move. Lazarey dropped his arms, giving Sark a small smile. "You will not give your father a hug?"

"You are only my father by blood," Sark said crisply, walking over to the small bar next to his desk, "and that means nothing to me."

Lazarey nodded, and sat down on a chair sitting in front of Sark's desk. "I was hoping your anger with me would have cooled in the past years, but I suppose that was just wishful thinking on my part."

"I suppose it was," Sark said, pouring Whisky into two small glass cups. He walked over and handed one to Lazarey, taking one for himself, he sat down across from him.

"You remembered what I drink," Lazarey said, sounding surprised. Sark regarded his father for a moment. He looked older, but appeared healthy. Sark wasn't sure if he was happy or angry about that.

"Not by fault," he finally said, "I was taught to remember things. You know that. Now what do you want? I assume you know the only reason you're alive is because you are related to me. I'm giving you that courtesy, but I only have so much patience when it comes to you."

"I understand," Lazarey said, taking a sip of his drink. He nodded his approval before continuing. "You know what's happening?"

"Of course," The annoyance was clear in his voice.

"The Covenant is looking for a blood relative of Rambaldi's," Lazarey said, "this woman, in the prophecy," he motioned with his hand, "this Sydney Bristow, they are looking for her too."

"I know that," Sark snapped. He was tired all of the sudden. He ran a hand over his face, through his hair. "You're telling me things I already know."

"Of course, you already have Sydney." Lazarey said, taking another sip of his drink. "But you must know the Covenant will find out soon you are the only blood relative."

"Yes…"

"Whether you like it or not, I am your father. I don't want to see you in the hands of the Covenant once they learn this." Lazarey said, "I want to help you."

"I don't like it," Sark said, "I don't see how you would mind, and I don't want your help." He sighed, shaking his head. He didn't want to deal with this.

"Sometimes even when you don't want it, you have to except it." Lazarey said calmly.

"And how are you going to help me?" Sark finally questioned.

"I will try to lead the Covenant in a different direction," he said, "and we will go on from there. But I would like to leave someone here for any…mishaps that may occur."

Sark gave a small laugh. "You know I'm the best," he smirked, "so are Simon and Sydney, who could you possible find that's better?"

"Well, I may not be better, but I'm as good as you, _brother_," a male voice spoke from the doorway.

----------

Sark watched as Nikolai walked into the room, surprised at his brother's appearance. Nikolai resembled Lazarey, but mostly had his mother's looks. He usually had dark brown hair, which stuck out in all directions, but now the top was dyed a bright blue. He had a strong nose, like his father. His right eyebrow now had a silver ring piercing it. He had a soft mouth, almost like Sark's, and a scar right over his top lip.

But even with appearances so different, you could tell they were brothers. They had the same eyes. Not in color, but the way their eyes changed with their moods…it was undeniable. Nikolai had green eyes; they were sea green, emerald…they were always changing. Just like Sark's. And they were both arrogant, cocky, and smug. They had an air about them that just begged you to try them.

"Nikolai…" Sark finally spoke, standing up from his seat. He walked over to his brother, they stood eye to eye. Sark regarded his brother. Nikolai had on a dark blue dress shirt, black pants, boots, and a black string choker with a silver charm to complete the outfit. So different from the plain attire he used to wear. "You've changed."

"Haven't we all?" Nikolai questioned. He moved past Sark and grabbed a glass from the bar. Flipping it in the air with his right hand, he caught it with his left and set it back down on the table. He turned back around. "Have any beer around here?"

"Nikolai," Lazarey snapped, standing up from his seat. "I did not bring you here to drink yourself to death. Now sit down." Nikolai glanced at his father, then walked over and sat down on a chair next to him.

"If I'm staying here for awhile, I'm going to need some beer," Nikolai said to Sark. He motioned to the bar. "None of that crap. I'm gonna' need some Guinness."

"You can't expect for him to stay here," Sark said to Lazarey, "the three of us can handle everything." Lazarey stood and walked over to Sark.

"You need my help, and as your father, I'm going to do just that." He said calmly, "Now you can accept my help, and Nikolai will stay with you, or you can refuse my help, and Nikolai will still stay, even if that means he will sleep outside."

"I never—" Nikolai started, trying to interrupt. Lazarey held up a hand, silencing him.

He glanced at his watch. "I need to leave; I have a plane to catch. I will be in touch." He walked out of the room, leaving a silent Sark behind. He clenched his jaw. He really hated the man, especially when he was right. He did need his help.

"Hate when he does that," Nikolai said, standing up from his chair and walking towards the door. He glanced back at Sark. "Where am I sleeping?"

----------

Sydney pulled a pillow over her face and gave a scream of frustration. She _hated_ him. Well…she was _supposed_ to hate him; it was part of her _job_. Yet here she was, working with the enemy. She jumped off the bed, pacing. She shouldn't be thinking about him…_that_ way. She should be thinking about her dad, Marshall, Weiss…anyone but Sark. Simon. She should think about what Simon said about her mom. How did Simon know her mom? Oh god...it was no use. She couldn't stop thinking about him.

"That's it," she said aloud. She untied the towel that had been wrapped around her. Even during her _shower_ she had thought about him. She shrugged off the towel that had been wrapped around her hair. She pulled on underwear, a pair of cotton shorts, and a tank top. She walked out the door to her room, heading for Sark's office. She was going to make him tell her everything. _Everything. _

She tore the door open to his office, walking inside. It was empty. She walked out, heading for the kitchen. She grimaced, looking down at her shoulder. And to add to everything, she had opened her stitches. But there was no way she was going to ask _him_ to help her. She couldn't stand the thought of looking him in the eyes after crying in front of him. Crying. Sydney Bristow does not _cry_ in front of the enemy. She sucks it up and deals. She'd been taught how to hide her emotions perfectly, and yet she had let them show; in front of Sark no less.

No, she did not want to face him right now. She was being a coward, she knew it, but right now, she didn't really give a shit. So there was only one thing she could do- she was going to have to find Simon. With a sigh, she stood and headed for the door.

----------

Sydney walked down the hallway. She was unsure which room was Simon's. _Great._ So she had to go knock on every door? She stopped at a door, her right hand lifted to knock. No answer. She went to the next one. No answer.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," she spat out, walking to the next door. Her hand was posed to knock, but she saw that the door was partially open. She looked both ways down the hallway. Empty. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open. She heard a shower running. _Go, stay, go, stay…_stay. She walked into the room. She saw a bag of clothes open on the bed. Why would Simon have an open bag of clothes on his bed? _He wouldn't. _This night was just getting better and better.

She was about to turn around when she heard a noise behind her. She spun around quickly. A fist came at her face. It connected, sending her flying onto the bed. She jumped up, kicking the man right in the stomach, he grunted, bending over. She brought her hand up to her mouth, it came away with blood. _Fuck. _Alright, _now _she was pissed. Pissed enough to kick who's ever ass this was? Hell. Yes.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked. She sat down on the bed. Damn, she was tired. Her shoulder hurt, and now her mouth hurt, and she was sure to have a nice bruise tomorrow morning. This day sucked. "I would kick your ass right now, but I'm tired. And I have a feeling you're supposed to be here. So spill it now, or I'm just going to take that gun out of your bag and shoot you."

"Who the hell are _you_?" He asked, standing up. He had dark brown hair on the sides, bright blue on the top. His right eyebrow had a silver ring through it and his eyes…why did they remind her of Sark?

"I asked first," she said, pulling the gun out of his bag. She took off the safety, setting it on her lap. "Well? Do you really want me to shoot you?" The man gave a small laugh.

"You won't shoot me," he said, sitting down on the only chair in the room. He looked arrogant. That reminded her of Sark. _Fuck_ Sark. She lifted the gun and shot the wall right next to his head. The noise was loud, echoing through the house.

"I have really good aim, and I'm pissed," she said coldly, "so don't push me."

"I'll tell you if you tell me," he said with a smirk. Sydney glowered. She lifted the gun again, preparing to shoot the man when Simon and Sark burst into the room, guns draw. They both froze when they saw who they were. Simon was the first to speak.

"What the bloody _fucking_ hell is going on in here?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Simon shut the book he had just finished reading, _Of Mice and Men_, by John Steinbeck. What a fucking dumb-ass book that had been. He just didn't get it. Sure, the book probably had a deeper meaning. But to him, it was about people and their small-minded asses. _That_ was what the book was about. How people couldn't accept someone who wasn't exactly the same as them, someone who wasn't 'normal'.

But it still sucked. People need to have at least common sense. If you have this 'simpleminded man' who doesn't know his own strength, why the _fuck_ would you give the man a puppy? Did they _hate_ the puppy? Was the puppy _mean_ to them? _Fucking morons._ Then the guy kills the girl. Why the fuck wasn't someone watching the man? If they knew he was 'simpleminded', didn't they think it might have been a good idea to make sure some dumb-ass woman didn't go see him?

"Fuckin' morons," Simon swore, throwing the book onto the table next to him. He had read the book to occupy his time while Sark talked to his father. That had been an hour ago. He was ready to go find out what was happening. He stood, getting ready to leave when he heard a gunshot go off.

"_Shit_," he cursed, grabbing a gun that was taped to the underside of the table. He ran out, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. He saw Sark running down the hall, he ran, catching up to him. "Who the fuck shot that?"

"I have an idea," Sark said, making his way to the bedrooms. "Nikolai is here."

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" Simon asked, surprised. He hadn't seen Nikolai in years. Sark stopped outside a door, where they heard voices talking. Sark kicked open the door and they both ran into the room. The both froze. Sydney was sitting on the bed, a gun in one hand, and her left shoulder bleeding. Nikolai was sitting on a chair, a bullet hole next to his head.

"What the bloody _fucking_ hell is going on in here?" Simon finally asked, walking over to Sydney. He took the gun from her. She let him, too tired for anything else.

"Simon," Nikolai said, standing up from the chair, "long time no see."

"Niki," Simon said with a nod. He sat down next to Sydney, looking at her shoulder. He glanced up at her face, noting her lip was bleeding. "Is one of you going to answer me?"

"I was about to take a shower when I find this girl," he gestured to Sydney, "in my room." Sydney glared at him.

"I was looking for Simon you dip-shit," she said, grimacing as Simon prodded her shoulder. "You left your door open."

"I'm going to take a wild guess that you two were fighting," Simon said, standing up. "You opened your stitches, they need to be redone, and you should put some ice on your lip."

"I opened the stitches earlier," Sydney said, standing up as well.

"Doing what?" Simon asked, "You were supposed to be resting." Her face turned a light shade of red.

"I was taking a shower." Simon snorted, opening his mouth to make a possibly, and most likely, crude remark, but she interrupted him. "Who is that?" She nodded toward Nikolai. Simon glanced at Sark.

"That's Nikolai," Sark finally said, "my…brother."

----------

"Your brother?" Sydney repeated. When had Sark gotten a brother? Oh god, she was going insane. That's what had happened. What else could it be? Wait a minute…Sark had a _brother_? Why didn't he tell her he had a brother who was coming? Didn't she deserve to know what was going on? _Hell yes._

"Half-brother," Sark corrected her. They both glanced at said person. Nikolai flashed them a smile and gave them a little wave. Sydney rolled her eyes and turned back to Sark with a glare.

"Were you ever going to mention this?"

"I didn't see a reason to bring it up," he said simply. God, she hated when he did that. She _hated_ it. He acted as if everything he did was right. _As-fucking-if. _

"You didn't see a reason?" She shook her head. "Right, well, I don't see a reason to stay here." She walked over to the door, ignoring Sark's gaze. She knew she was being childish, but, what the hell, she was on a roll already. She turned back to Simon. "Are you going to come help me?" Simon nodded and glanced at Sark once before following Sydney out.

Nikolai whistled. "Damn, you couldn't cut the tension in here with a chain saw." Sark bit the inside of his mouth. _Fuck._ This was turning into a mess. He had to talk with Sydney. He walked over to Nikolai, coming to stand face to face with him.

"Stay away from Sydney," he said coldly, "she's of no concern to you."

"Touchy, touchy, little brother," Nikolai said with a grin, "You haven't stuck a claim yet, have you?"

"That was your only warning," Sark said, ignoring what he had said. "I won't tell you again." Nikolai quieted. They stared at each other, blue on green. Nikolai finally spoke.

"I could kill you if I wanted."

Sark smirked. "As could I,"

"But I won't."

"Nor will I."

"Only because I was told not too."

"And that's where we're different," Sark said, turning to walk out of the room. "because I could never be a follower, Nikolai." He left the room, the door wide open behind him.

----------

"How is she?" Sark was standing outside on the balcony, the cool, crisp air blowing around softly. The view was amazing, but he couldn't have cared less. His mind was too occupied with other things, mainly Sydney. How could everything be going this bad? His father had become involved, his brother was here, and Sydney was obviously angry with him. What a joy his life was.

"She's fine, 'stitched her up good." Simon spoke, taking a pack of cigarettes out from his pocket. He pulled one out, sticking it in his mouth. "Want to tell me what exactly happened between you two?" He spoke around the cigarette, bringing a match up to light it. He threw the match onto the ground, taking a drag from the cigarette.

"I thought you were quitting." Sark said, staring at the cigarette with obvious disdain.

"Eh…" Simon shook his head, blowing the smoke out in a straight line. "Old habits die hard. But don't get off topic, Jul." Sark sighed, looking out into the fields.

"Nothing happened."

"Right," Simon took another drag, savoring the taste of the tobacco. "Nothing happened, that can leave a lot to the imagination, mate."

"Nothing…" Sark shook his head, glancing over his shoulder at Simon. "What do you think about Nikolai?"

"Big brother, Niki?" Simon laughed, "Ah…I dunno mate, he's a puppy dog to your father. You know your Da; he does something only if there's something in it for him." Sark nodded, he agreed. Simon took another drag, exhaling the smoke out. "But we don't have much of a choice. He could easily tell what he knows to certain people. I think we just need to play along with him. See what happens."

"I have a feeling as well, but as you said, we don't have much of a choice." Sark pushed away from the balcony, walking towards the door. He turned back, "there's nothing going on between Sydney and I, you're wrong about that, Simon."

"Yeah," Simon gave him a knowing look, "and I'm a fucking nun." Sark ignored him and walked inside. Simon turned back around, looking out into the distance. He brought the cigarette up in front of his face, regarding the burning stick. "Bloody little fucker," he threw it onto the ground, smashing it with his boot. He really needed to quit.

----------

Sydney froze when she heard a small creaking sound echo through the room. Someone was there. She slowly started to reach for the gun hidden under her pillow when a voice stopped her.

"It's me," Sark. Her features turned hard and she sat up. She gasped when she felt a pair of arms slide around her waist, coming to rest gently on her stomach. She felt his body as it slid in behind her, his breath warm on her neck. Her breathing became shallow as she felt his lips touch her neck softly.

"Sydney…" he whispered softly against her neck. She closed her eyes, letting the sensations wash over her. "Sydney…wake up." Her eyes shot open. Wake up? Wasn't she _already_ up—

Sydney shot up in bed, gasping when she came in contact with a body. She let out a breath when she realized it was just Simon. Wait…Simon? What was Simon doing—

"We've got things to do, you up for it?" He cut off her train of thought. She nodded, lifting her legs off the bed. God, she had been having a wet dream involving _Sark_?

She was so screwed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_Three weeks later…_

"Who do you work for?" A heavily accented French voice spoke.

Silence.

"I will not hesitate to hurt you."

"Well, in that case I better tell you." A female voice spoke.

"Yes…?"

"I work for…" A sigh, "I work for…"

"Well?" The voice was growing angry.

"Damn." A shrug. "I can't remember." A punch was directed to the left side of her face. She spat blood onto the metal floor. She smirked. "That was a little soft."

_----------_

_48 hours earlier…_

"Thomas D'Aubigne," Simon said, pointing to the screen. A man in his mid-forties was pictured; he was handsome, black hair, dark eyes, obviously French. A cigarette dangled from his hand. He looked cocky, like he always got what he wanted. Sydney already despised him. But there was something familiar about him… "We recently learned he has made some interesting discoveries. Ones he shouldn't have."

"Apparently he has found a Rambaldi manuscript," Sark spoke up from his seat at the table. Sydney carefully avoided any eye contact with him. "One that could contain information about Rambaldi's second coming." She could feel Sark's gaze, but she ignored it, instead focusing on the papers that lay before her.

"So he's having a party?" She questioned.

"He's invited many members of the covenant," Nikolai, who was seated next to her, spoke, "he plans on revealing the manuscript there. The guy obviously wants to gain a better seat within the kingdom, and what better way to do it then find something they all want, and dangle it in front of their faces?" She nodded. He did have a point.

"What are we going to do?" She finally asked, glancing up at Simon again.

He grinned. "Steal it."

"Of course, what was I thinking?" she remarked, standing up from her seat. "When are we leaving?"

"'Couple hours," Simon said, "and pack a bag."

"Right," Sydney nodded and headed for the door, ignoring Sark's gaze that followed her out. She kept walking out into the hallway, and almost clobbered him when he grabbed her arm.

"Sydney-"

She spun around quickly, ripping her arm out of his grasp. "Don't touch me," she spat out. Sark didn't seem fazed by her anger, simply tilting his head to the side.

"You're angry with me, I understand that-"

"Angry with you?" She scoffed, shaking her head. "You think I'm angry with you? I'm just acting how I would normally act with you. I don't like you, Sark. I thought you would have figured that out by now, but, hey, if not, let me clear that up for you – _I don't like you_." She turned, intending to walk away when his voice stopped her.

"You can't expect me to tell you my life story, Sydney. I will inform you of what I believe you should know, nothing more." Before Sydney could respond, Simon walked out into the hall, stepping between the two of them.

"I don't know exactly what happened between the two of you, but I have a pretty fucking good idea," he said, looking between the both of them, "But you know what? I don't give a flying shit. Get over it. I don't care how you do it - but you better have this cleared up before we leave, 'cause I ain't gettin' my ass killed because you two love birds are having a feud." Sydney opened her mouth to respond, but Simon raised his hand.

"I don't wanna hear it," he said. "Figure this shit out." He walked back into the room, leaving an awkward silence behind. Sark was the first to speak.

"Sydney-"

"He's right." She said, turning around. "Just forget it."

----------

_12 hours later…_

"Black Mamba, do you copy?" Sydney rolled her eyes, bringing her hand inconspicuously up to her ear. She pressed her com link.

"How many times have I told you that is _not_ my codename?" She shook her head. She could almost see Simon's grin on the other line.

"At least a hundred," he said, "and you have to admit, it fits you perfectly, babe."

"And yet, I don't," she said, glancing around the room. She caught a pair of familiar blue eyes, looking away quickly, she resumed her scan. She had artfully avoided Sark since their conversation, and she didn't intend to start being friendly now. Not that it mattered. They were on a _yacht_, floating at sea in the middle of nowhere.

----------

Sydney's gaze followed Thomas D'Aubigne as he made his way around the room. She glanced up when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. It was a man in his early thirties, he was handsome, but he looked a little snotty for her tastes. She smiled tightly.

"Would you like to dance?" He asked, giving her a brilliant smile. She was about to respond when she heard Simon's voice in her ear.

"Jul's going into the room, babe, we need a distraction. And while you're at it, tell that guy…_Vais le baton il augmente votre âne." _She choked on the glass of champagne she had been sipping, and started coughing loudly. Everyone around her stopped talking and watched. The man patted her on the back, trying feebly to help. "We're good, babe."

She stopped coughing, giving the man a smile. "Excuse me, I have to go…" She walked off without waiting for a response. Once she was out of earshot she cursed into her com link. "_Go stick it up your ass_? I almost choked to death, you bastard." She couldn't stop the smile from coming over her features, though. The man _was_ funny.

"I can tell you with certainty that guy wanted to stick his-"

"Simon!" She shook her head, shocked, but knowing she shouldn't be. This was _Simon_ she was talking to. "I get the idea. Now-" She broke off, hearing footsteps coming from behind her. She turned around, her breath stopped when she saw who it was.

Thomas D'Aubigne walked past her and Sydney almost sighed in relief, she started walking towards the dining room when his voice stopped her.

"Wait,_" _she stopped, turning around slowly. She smiled at him.

"_Bonjour, monsieur," _she said, giggling at the man. "I was looking for the bathroom."

"Do I know you?" He asked, gazing at her curiously.

"I don't think so," she said with a grin. "I would have remembered meeting you." He watched her for a moment, then smiled.

"I hope you are enjoying the party, _mademoiselle_." Sydney smiled. This was almost too easy.

----------

Sark couldn't help but glace at Sydney every couple of minutes. She had been avoiding him since their conversation in the hallway. That bothered him, more then he cared to admit. Living in the same house as Nikolai and Simon was hard enough, but add an angry Bristow, and you've got quite a situation. A giggling voice broke Sark out of his thoughts.

"Excuse me,_ monsieur, _you looked lonely." A beautiful blonde woman in her early thirties smiled at him flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes. Sark gave her his trademark smirk.

"I assure you, I am quite fine by myself." He spoke, "I doubt your husband would approve of you flirting with every man in sight_, non?_" The woman huffed indignantly, glaring at him.

"_Bâtard,_" she spat, walking away quickly. He shook his head. French women were so easily angered. He scanned the crowd again, noticing Sydney talking with Mr. D'Aubigne. _Time to play_, he thought, walking off towards them.

----------

"Isabelle, my dear," Sark wrapped his arm around Sydney's waist, his eyes on D'Aubigne the entire time. "Care to introduce me to your new friend?"

"David, darling, this is Mr. D'Aubigne," she giggled, twirling a piece of hair between her fingers.

"Mr. D'Aubigne," Sark stretched his arm out, shaking the man's hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine," he smiled, "and please, call me Thomas."

"Tell me, Thomas," Sark's voice dropped, taking on a cold tone. "Do you make it a habit in trying to steal other men's wives?" D'Aubigne's eyes widened at Sark's tone, and he raised his hands in defense.

"I was not trying to steal your wife, _Monsieur_," he spoke, obviously flustered. "we were just talking."

"Oh, I'm sure you were just _talking_," Sark glared at the man, "just like you've probably _talked_ with all the other women in this place."

"_Monsieur_, you are obviously mistaken." Thomas said, his eyes narrowing. "And I do not appreciate being talked to in that tone. If you have a problem with me we can go into my office and talk it out, but not in the middle of this room."

"Fine," Sark grabbed a glass of whisky from a serving tray and downed it in one gulp. "Let's go to your office and _talk_ this out."

"David," Sydney clutched onto his arm, "Sweetie, don't do this, please-"

"Dear," Sark removed her arm, "Why don't you go powered your nose." Sydney's mouth fell open in shock, her eyes narrowed and she walked off in a huff. Sark snorted and looked at D'Aubigne. "Women. Now…how about that talk?"

----------

"I assume you do not wish to talk about your wife?" Sark glanced back at D'Aubigne, who was seated behind his desk. He sat down in the seat across from him.

"Of course not, Mr. D'Aubigne." The man watched him for a moment.

"Then I assume you would like to know about a certain something I have in my possession."

"Yes." Sark nodded, glancing around the room. "I assume you won't let me see that certain something?"

"You assume correctly, Mr. Sark." D'Aubigne smiled, showing his white teeth.

_Fuck_, was the last word Sark thought before falling to the floor, unconscious.

----------

Sydney scanned the area, watching for Sark. He was still talking with D'Aubigne. She glanced at her watch. It should have been over. She bit her lip, quickly releasing it once she realized she had done it. This wasn't right. Something was wrong.

She turned, only to be stopped by a gun pointing directly at her forehead. Before she could think, the butt of a gun hit the back of her head, knocking her unconscious.

----------

_Present…_

"Who do you work for?" A heavily accented French voice spoke.

Silence.

"I will not hesitate to hurt you."

"Well, in that case I better tell you." A female voice spoke.

"Yes…?"

"I work for…" A sigh, "I work for…"

"Well?" The voice was growing angry.

"Damn." A shrug. "I can't remember." A punch was directed to the left side of her face. She spat blood onto the metal floor. She smirked. "That was a little soft."

"I can assure you; this is just a taste of what is to come."

"You have no idea how excited I am." Sydney spoke in a bland tone, smirking as the man left, slamming the metal door of the boat behind him. Once he was gone, her shoulders slumped in her chair. Her hands were tied tightly behind her with wire; they were wet, presumably with her blood. She grimaced. Life was great.

----------

"Mr. Sark, tell me what I want to know, and you are free to leave." The French man spoke, walking slowly around the chair which Sark was tied to.

"Unharmed?" Sark asked, face blank.

"Of course." Sark nodded. The man smiled. "Good. Now, tell me who you work for." Sark sighed, shaking his head. He shrugged.

"What if I tell you where to find the most excellent red wine ever produced?" The man backhanded Sark across the face. Sark licked the inside of his mouth, tasting blood. "That was a mistake on your part."

"I will tell you what the mistake is! The mistake is you not telling me what I want to know!" The man started shouting in French. Finally he came very close to Sark's face. "You will tell me what I want to know." Sark smirked.

"That is most unlikely, but to all his own." The man spat in Sark's face.

"Filthy Americans!" He left, slamming the door behind him. Sark grimaced as he felt the saliva slide down his face. That man was dead.

----------

Sydney was humming softly. It was a song her mother used to sing to her when she was young. She couldn't remember what it was called, but knew the tune perfectly. Her gaze lifted to the door when it opened. The French man walked in, as well as two other men, both sporting enough weapons to kill a small village.

"You will not talk, but perhaps your friend will talk if we put on a show for him, eh?" Sydney shook her head.

"I don't know what you're talking about, I just came to have a good time—"

"Silence." The man raised a hand. "We shall see what happens. But I believe my friend Douleur will help with our communication issues." Sydney shook her head.

"Oh boy, I'm scared now. Do you have a closet?"

"Excuse me?" He looked confused.

"A closet, you know, so I can go hide?" She smiled at the man. He smiled back.

"Douleur!" He yelled loudly. Sydney smirked.

"Douleur? Pain?" She bit her lip, containing her obvious amusement. "How very original."

"I assure you I do live up to the name, _mademoiselle._" A man in his late-forties walked into the room. His hair was a dark brown, almost black, starting to gray. He was handsome in a way, but once you saw his eyes, you knew he was just plain…evil. He had no soul. Sydney almost shuddered. Almost.

"I'm sure you do, _Douleur_." Sydney bit her tongue to keep from saying anything else, but found a moment later she need not bother as she felt a needle slide into her neck none to gently. Her last sight was of Douleur, and his startlingly empty eyes.

----------

Sydney gasped and sputtered as ice cold water was thrown onto her face. She coughed, having swallowed some. After a moment she finally looked up. Douleur smiled at her. Sydney noted Sark tied to a chair behind him. She looked back up at Douleur, and was proud of herself for not flinching at the emptiness that stared back at her.

"My dear, shall we begin?" He smiled at her again, gesturing back at Sark. "We have your friend here to watch. We are going to have fun." Sydney tried moving her hands, which were, she found, tied behind her chair. Her legs were tied to the chair as well, but she found she could move them a little.

"I don't suppose we could just have a friendly conversation?" She asked, mentally preparing herself for whatever was about to happen. She tried the rope again, it gave a little.

"But of course," he said, grabbing something from the small table behind him. "If you would only tell me what my employer would like to know, we would not have to go through all of this."

"You know, I'd love to help you out, I really would," she shrugged, "but I don't work for anyone. Honestly." Douleur made a 'tisk, tisk' sound, turning around so she could see what he had in his hand. A mask, connected to a long tube, which in turn was connected to a tank. She swallowed inwardly. She was not looking forward to this.

"Now, shall we begin?"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Higher R for some sexual situations, but I didn't post the whole thing. If you would like to read it, you can either go to the SD1 Boards under the Sark fanfiction, or give me an e-mail. Enjoy!

**Chapter 10**

"Niki, do you copy?" Simon spoke softly into his com link, glancing around the corner of the hallway he was now in. His gun was poised and ready in his hand. He started walking. "Nikolai?"

"I can hear you just fine, Simon." Nikolai's voice could be heard softly. Simon rolled his eyes inwardly.

"Wouldn't it have been easier if you had just told me you could hear me the first time I asked?" He didn't even know why he was bothering to ask Nikolai this. Nikolai did what he wanted, when he wanted to, and that was that.

"Why don't you just go rescue pretty boy and his girl toy before they get any scratches."

"Why, Nikolai," Simon smirked, "do I hear some concern in your voice?"

"That was sarcasm." Simon just shook his head.

"Sure it was, mate."

----------

She couldn't breath. Freezing cold water was being forced down her throat, up her nose. She struggled in the chair she was tied to, but she just couldn't get loose. Finally, just as her vision was starting to go black, the water was turned off, the mask removed. She coughed, spitting out water. Her body shook. She was gasping for breath.

"Why are you on this boat? Who sent you?" Douleur spoke softly, as if he wasn't torturing her, as if they were simply talking. Like friends. _Like hell_, she thought.

"O…k…" she finally spoke, still trying to catch her breath. "I'll…tell you."

"Good, _bonne fille_." He smiled, but it never came close to meeting his eyes, which looked like they would have been better off with nothing in them, rather then what they had.

"Come closer and I'll tell you." He made the 'tisk, tisk' sound again.

"I will not be fooled by you," he said, the smile now gone. She liked that better. She shrugged.

"Had to try." As he turned to pick up the mask again, Sydney caught Sark's eyes. She nodded to Douleur's back, then at her feet. Sark raised an eyebrow, as if to say 'the show is yours'. She winked as she kicked her legs out, catching Douleur around the neck. She pulled him toward her, the force knocking the chair she was tied in over, taking him with her.

She let him go, reaching her leg up to her hand, she pulled out a small knife. She cut the wire around her wrists, sighing in pleasure as the constant cutting force was gone. She rolled to her side, sliding into a fighting stance. She was barely prepared as Douleur knocked into her, sending them both flying into the wall behind her. A loud thud was heard as her body connected. They both slid to the floor, Douleur on top.

"Sydney!" Sark's voice called to her. She groaned, pushing Douleur off of her, sliding the knife out of his stomach. She finally stood up, making her way over to Sark. She cut his hands free, giving him the knife to do the rest. He turned to her once he was done.

"Are you ok?" She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. They both spun towards the door when it burst open, both prepared to fight. They both relaxed once they saw the intruder.

"Ah, I see you two love-birds are doing just fine." Simon regarded the dead man on the floor. He whistled, eyes turning to Sydney. "Your work I assume?" She nodded. "Nikolai's got the manuscript, says he'll meet us at the hotel."

"Well," he gestured out the door, "shall we?"

----------

Sydney had just slipped on a pair of shorts when the knocking started. She adjusted her tank top as she made her way to the door. She peeked through the eyehole to see who it was. She swallowed. _Sark._ She glanced at her appearance in the mirror, which was conveniently located near the door, and instantly regretted it. Her hand fell from her hair. This was _Sark,_ she didn't care how she looked around him. _Right._ She smoothed her wet hair back as best she could. Maybe she did care…just a little. She opened the door.

"Sark." She noticed he was wearing one of his Armani suits. Typical. But…he did look extremely-

"Sydney?" She shook her head, feeling a blush creeping up her neck. She was thinking about Sark _that way_, and he was right in front of her to witness it. Wonderful.

"Right, sorry," she opened the door, gesturing for him to come in. He did. She shut the door, noticing he didn't go sit down, just stood in the hallway. "Did you need something?"

"No," he said, "I apologize if I came at a bad time. I wanted to stop by and make sure your shoulder wasn't bothering you."

"It's fine," she unconsciously brought her hand up to touch her shoulder. He stepped closer to her, pointing at her shoulder.

"May I?" She nodded after a moment, and had to bite her tongue to keep from sighing as his hands touched her shoulder. They were warm and rough, but somehow still soft. His fingers glided over her skin, testing the muscles. He continued for a few moments before finally dropping his hands down. "It seems fine."

She could only nod, trying to keep her eyes on his, and not his mouth, which was now only centimeters from his. He brought his hand up, tucking a strand of her wet hair behind her ear. The tension between them skyrocketed.

The first touch of his lips on hers sent a shock wave through her system. His lips were soft, feather light. They were tentative at first. She almost smiled, but instead sighed softly as he increased the pressure of his mouth on hers. She brought her arms up and wrapped them around his neck. Her fingers threaded through his short, curly hair.

He had one hand cupping her cheek, the other on the small of her back. She loved the feeling of his arms around her, holding her. They felt strong, firm, but soft, gentle. He pushed her back against the wall, their bodies were pressed together, his solid one against her soft one. She moaned as his tongue swept across her lower lip, asking permission. She complied, opening her mouth, letting his tongue enter to tangle with her own.

Her senses were on overload. He tasted, surprisingly, like lemons. She couldn't get enough of him. She was addicted. He was new. Exotic. _Delicious_. She didn't want to take her lips off of his, but the burning need for air was becoming more apparent. Finally, she reluctantly removed her lips from his, the back of her head hitting the wall. His face rested in the nook of her neck, his warm breath pounding fiercely against it.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she said softly, trying to catch her breath. The adrenaline was pumping through her veins wildly. She felt so alive, so…real. She hadn't felt like this in a long time.

"I know," he said, his own breathing still heavy. Before she knew what was happening, his lips were on hers again. This time they were rough, demanding. She loved it. She felt his hand on her lower back slid lower. She removed her lips from his, pushing him backwards until his knees hit the sofa in the small room. He landed on his back, his blue eyes pouring into hers. She fell to her knees over him, one on each side.

She brought her face down to his again, her lips covering his in a demanding gesture. He responded just as demanding, his hands grabbing her hips flush against his. She gasped as she felt the firm length of his erection rub against her thigh. His hands on her hips tightened, and without breaking the contact of their lips, he flipped them over, resting on his forearms above her.

His hand slid under her shirt, making its way over soft skin. His hand glided over her stomach, coming up to her chest. She let out a moan as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb sliding roughly over her nipple. _God, this felt so good, so- _Sydney pushed Sark off of her, standing up. She kept her back to him as she tried to catch her breath. _What the fuck was she doing? She wasn't supposed to…this was wrong, so, so wrong…_

"Sydney," Sark's hand on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts. She shook his hand off, turning around. "Simon would like everyone down at the bar at eight." She nodded, avoiding his eyes. "Right, well…" He walked to the door, shutting it softly behind him. She sighed. _What the fuck was she doing?_

----------

Sark swallowed the shot of Bourbon, his mouth tightening as the alcohol coated his throat. He set the glass down, nodding to the bartender for another. Not that it mattered. Consuming a rather large amount of alcohol wasn't going to make him forget what had happened between Sydney and him earlier. _Fuck. _He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, which was getting long.

"Aye," Simon sat down on the stool next to him. He picked up Sark's newly poured Bourbon and downed it. "You look like shit, mate." Sark gave him an unhappy stare. Simon shrugged, "just telling it like it is, Jul. So, care to inform me of anything?"

"No," Sark replied, signaling to the bartender, he looked past Simon, "Nikolai." Nikolai nodded toward a table in the corner of the bar.

"Shall we?" They all stood, heading for the table, Sark followed behind Nikolai; then bumped into him when he stopped all of the sudden. Sark cursed as Nikolai whistled. Sark followed his gaze, landing on a beautiful brunette woman walking into the bar. She had on a simple black dress, her hair hanging freely.

"Damn," Nikolai spoke, "I wouldn't mind taking-" Simon snorted as the woman turned her head; it was Sydney. Nikolai shrugged. "I'd still-"

"Ah, mate," Simon nodded towards Sark, whose eyes were still on Sydney as she walked over to them, "I think she's taken." They laughed as Sark didn't even notice what they had said. Sydney finally made her way over, stopping next to them.

"What are you standing here for?" She raised an eyebrow; she smiled, walking past to the table. They all turned, watching her for a moment before following.

----------

"That's it?" Sydney finished off her vodka tonic, looking a Simon. He nodded.

"Niki got the manuscript, so yeah, that's done," he took a swig of his beer.

"What now?" She glanced around the table, "Do we go back?" This time Sark nodded, setting down his glass of red wine.

"We'll be taking the jet back to the old house," he said, referring to the house in Italy. Sydney nodded, rising from her seat.

"I'm going to head back to my room," she said, "catch some sleep." They all nodded, watching as she walked out of the bar. Sark swallowed to rest of his wine, and stood as well.

"I have some paper work to do," he said, already walking out of the bar. Simon and Nikolai glanced at each other.

"Interesting relationship they've got going on," Nikolai said, fingering the napkin under his drink. Simon nodded.

"Aye, but their both stubborn little shits; they'll probably kill each other before admitting they love each other." Nikolai smirked, then nodded towards to bar.

"How about we get some shots?" Simon stood.

"Read my mind, mate." They sat down at the bar, signaling to the bar man. He was balding, in his late-thirties, and one of the ugliest men Simon had ever seen in his life. A bottle of Jack Daniels was placed in front of them with glasses. Simon poured; they both downed the small glass. It wasn't until after the third shot that Nikolai spoke.

"So tell me," he fingered the small glass on the table, "how is she?" Simon paused mid-pour, glancing up at Nikolai, expression blank. After a moment he looked back down and finished pouring his drink. He swallowed it before answering.

"And who's 'she', Nikolai?" Simon only used Nikolai's full name when he was being cautious, like now. Nikolai glanced down, pouring himself another drink.

"Ciara," he said, after swallowing the drink, "you get a letter once a year, right?"

"Yeah," Simon finally spoke softly; he ran a hand through his hair, "I usually get the letter by now, but there's nothing so far."

"It's bothering you."

"Aye," Simon sighed, he looked up at Nikolai, "you want to see a picture of her?" At Nikolai's nod, he brought out his wallet, searching through the soft leather before finally finding what he was looking for; a small worn picture. He handed it to Nikolai, who regarded the picture of a smiling woman with a small girl, both with dark hair.

"They look happy," Nikolai said it in a curious tone, almost like he had never heard of anything like it. Simon nodded, a small smile gracing his features.

"Yeah," he said, looking away, "they do."

----------

Sark stood; setting down the martini he had been drinking, and walked towards the door of his hotel room as someone knocked. He opened it, shock registering on his face as Sydney stood on the other side. She was wearing a black silk robe, tied at the waist; no shoes.

"Sydney-" He never got to finish his sentence as Sydney walked into the room, shutting the door swiftly behind her. She untied her robe, letting it fall to the ground. She stood in only a black lace bra and matching panties. She met his eyes, and he didn't wait a moment longer before moving to her.

----------

"The plane will be landing shortly, Sir." Sark nodded to the co-pilot, who then left. He glanced around the small cabin. Sydney was asleep on a chair across the aisle from him, her head resting against the window softly. She was wearing a turtle-neck to cover up the damage he had done to her the night before. It was a nasty bite, but he didn't feel that bad about it - he had his own damage - two sets of half-moons dug deeply into his back. He shifted in his seat, trying not to let his back touch.

Simon was working o his laptop, typing away. Nikolai was listening to a pair of headphones, taping his fingerings on the seat in front of him, which just so happened to be Simon's seat, before he moved after five minutes of the tapping. Now was his chance to go talk to Nikolai.

After Simon, Sydney and he had gotten safely off the ship into the small speedboat hidden near it, they were greeted by Nikolai, who held the manuscript in his hand. He had shrugged when asked how he had obtained it, like it was nothing. He had then proceeded to wink and flirt with Sydney the entire way back to the mainland. Sark had been annoyed, and had gone to see Sydney later which had led to…what happened between them.

He knew it was wrong, but the touch of her lips on his…he was addicted. He knew he would never be able to get enough of it. She tasted like something sweet, something wild. He had never kissed a woman like Sydney before. She took his breath away. He knew the moment they kissed, he would never want to kiss anyone else. He knew he shouldn't have kissed her, but…he couldn't help it. She was like a magnate, a force of nature he _lived_ to touch - and he needed to stop if he wanted to be _comfortable_ the rest of the flight.

Think about Nikolai. Whoa, that did the trick. He hadn't really talked to Nikolai since he had gotten here. They had some words here and there, but nothing serious, which brings it back to here, on the plane; a perfect opportunity to have a talk with his brother. _Half-brother._

"Don't be a sissy, Julian," he spoke softly aloud. He rose from his seat gracefully, making his way over to Nikolai. He slid into the seat next to him quietly. Nikolai didn't seem to notice, and continued tapping his fingers. The music he was listening to was loud enough to be heard around him, Sark almost smiled. Nikolai was never one to be polite. Suddenly Nikolai slid his headphones down to his neck, turning to look at Sark.

"If you wanted to listen, all you had to do was ask, Jul." Nikolai gave him a half-grin. "But I doubt that's why you're over here. So why don't you just spit it out now; I wouldn't want you to have a heart attack because you just couldn't find the words to tell me how much you love me." He covered his heart with his hands in a mock gesture of love. Sark's lips were pressed together tightly, his eyes narrowed.

"Really, Nikolai," Sark's lips curled back unpleasantly, "I had assumed you would be able to have an adult conversation, but I guess that was wishful thinking on my part." He stood to leave but, Simon caught his gaze, one look saying it all. _Stay there and talk to your brother, you pansy ass._ Sark sat back down with a sigh. He glanced at Nikolai, who had his headphones back on. He glanced at Sark, the slid them off again.

"Back so soon, little brother? I thought I wasn't 'adult' enough for you." Nikolai raised ad eyebrow. Sark shifted in his seat. This was harder then he thought.

"I wanted to say…thank you," he said, "for retrieving the manuscript. And I apologize if I seemed-"

"Obnoxious?" Nikolai supplied for him. Sark ignored him.

"-unpleasant when you arrived. I'm-"

"Finally realizing how amazing I am?"

"-glad you're here."

"Wow, an apology and a thank you from Julian Lazarey," Nikolai smirked, "what has the world come to?" Sark stood, intending to leave, but Nikolai's hand shot out to grab his arm. "Wait…you're right."

"Right about what?" Sark turned back to Nikolai.

"You were 'unpleasant'." Sark clenched his jaw, walked back over to his seat, and opened his laptop. Simon stood from his seat, and Sark noticed from the corner of his eye as Simon said something to Nikolai, who sighed and stood, making his way over to Sark. He sat down next to him.

"Sorry," he said, raising his hands in surrender, "it's a habit."

"And what would that be?" Sark asked quietly, not looking up from his screen.

"Insulting people, being rude," he said with a smirk, "you know; the usual."

"If you don't mind," Sark gestured to his laptop, "I'm working."

"Right," Nikolai said, "since when did you start liking paperwork, Jul?"

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Nikolai." Sark closed his laptop, turning to face him.

"True," Nikolai nodded his head, "but whose fault is that?"

"Our father's."

"I suppose," Nikolai said, "but not only his. You were with Irina and Simon; I was left with good 'ole daddy Lazarey." A dark look appeared in Nikolai's eyes, quickly vanishing, he smiled. "But that's old news."

"He really is a bastard," Sark glanced out the plane window into darkness; he looked back at Nikolai, "isn't he?"

"Yeah," Nikolai gave a small laugh, looking away, "yeah, he is." He glanced over at Sydney, still asleep. "I like her." He glanced back a Sark, serious, "Don't fuck it up, Jul, because it's the best thing that's ever happened to you, and I don't need to know everything about you to know that." He smiled; stood up, and went back to his seat. Sark didn't notice; staring at Sydney, Nikolai's voice ringing in his ears.

----------

Simon immediately took a cigarette out once he was off the plane; walking _down_ the steps of the plane to be exact. Nikolai was behind him, headphones nowhere to be seen.

Sydney came down next, yawning and stretching her arms.

"What time is it?" She asked, jumping down the next step. She stopped next to Simon, stretching her arms over her head. She caught Nikolai staring at her stomach, his eyes traveling upward. Once they got to her face she winked; he smirked. She was actually growing very fond of Nikolai. While they were waiting for the plane to take off earlier, they had played cards.

"_Eights?" Nikolai asked. Sydney looked through her cards, throwing two eights his way. _

"_Got any sixes?" She asked; staring back down at the cards she was holding in her hand. _

"_Nope." Nikolai said, shuffling through the cards in his hands. Sydney looked up, frowning. _

"_How is that possible…?" She trailed off, looking at Nikolai incredulously. "You're cheating!" He looked up, his expression shocked. _

"_Me?" He shook his head, smiling, "Why would I cheat playing go fish?" Sydney glared at him for a moment before setting her cards down. She stood, walking over to Simon. She sat down next to him. _

"_Does he always cheat?" She asked, nodding toward Nikolai. Simon looked up from the book he was reading. He looked at Nikolai. They both laughed. Simon nodded. _

"_That's Nikolai," he said, with a grin. Sydney gave Nikolai a look and put her headphones on, her eyes closing. She stayed like that for ten minutes or so before someone tapped her on her shoulder. She opened her eyes, startled to find a yellow daisy dangling in front of her face. She looked up and found Nikolai, smiling._

"Ready to go?" Sark's hand was on her lower back, making small circles. She nodded. They started walking towards the car, stopping when three black cars came speeding towards them. They stopped, a car door opened; Adrian Lazarey stepped out of the vehicle, a smug look gracing his features.

"Julian," he smiled, "I am so glad you could make it." He made a gesture and at least eight men emerged around the four of them. Sark tensed, as did Sydney.

"Need I ask what this is about?" Sark's voice was calm; collected.

"Well, my son," Lazarey said, "everyone has a price, and The Covenant gave me one I could not refuse."

"You sold me out," Sark voice got icy, "to The Covenant?"

"As I said before," Lazarey shrugged, "every man has his price. And it was not only me who sold you out…right, Nikolai?" Everyone's eyes flew to Nikolai, who held up his hands.

"What can I say? Everyone _does_ have a price," he looked at Sark, "sorry, little brother."

"And to think, I was just starting to trust you," Sark smirked, "I guess I am a fool."

"I wouldn't say that," Nikolai said, walking towards Lazarey, "I have a knack for making people believe what I want them too. And obviously, you're no exception."

"I suppose not." Sark said coldly, "So what now?"

"Now we take Miss. Bristow here with us, and you as well," Lazarey said, "I do not know how they plan to do the fertilization process, though I have heard you two my have already accomplished it." He looked Sydney up and down, obviously liking what he saw. "I can understand why you like her so much, Julian, she is very beautiful."

"As much fun as this is," Simon spoke for the first time, "how 'bout we get this rolling, 'cause I for one have places to be."

"Ah, Simon," Lazarey said with obvious dislike, "I see you are the same as always, nothing but a pest."

"Aww, thanks, da," Simon said, "and I see you are the same as always; a cold-hearted bastard." Lazarey's lip curled back in a snarl.

"I am not your father," he said, then smirked, "if I remember correctly, your father abandoned you, as did your mother, how…pathetic." Simon took a drag from the cigarette dangling from his fingertips. He threw it to the ground, crushing it with his boot.

"Yeah," he breathed the smoke out, looking up, "yeah he did. And he was a bastard, too. So I guess me and Jul here have something in common, no? Both our fathers are fucking bastards, but at least mine had the courtesy to realize he was a fucking bastard and lemme go, you, however," he pointed at Lazarey, "you were too much of a fucking bastard and a fucking psychopath to even give that courtesy." It was silent for a moment, then Lazarey spoke.

"Nikolai, my son," he said coldly, "come, let us leave them here to be dealt with." Nikolai nodded, and the two of them turned to walk off.

"Nikolai," he turned, looking back at Sark, "You're just like him," Sark said, the disgust evident in his voice, "_just_ like him." Nikolai watched Sark for a moment.

"Actually, little brother," he smirked, every emotion on his face gone, "I'm worse." Suddenly Nikolai stood in front of Lazarey. A shot went off. Nikolai fell. Hell broke loose, the men attacked, Simon and Sydney started fighting, but all Sark could do was stare at what had just occurred in front of him. He ran to Nikolai, pushing people out of the way.

He dropped to Nikolai's side, rolling him onto his back. Blood was pouring out of his chest. Sark glanced at Lazarey, who was staring at the gun in his hand. Sark didn't care. He only cared about the man now lying in his arms. _His brother._

"No, my son! Nikolai!" Lazarey shouted; angry, "Why did you do that? You stupid fool—"

"Shut the fuck up!" Sark shouted. He looked down at Nikolai. "Nikolai," Sark spoke as he took off his jacket to put on the bullet wound. "Nikolai, can you hear me?"

"Yeah," Nikolai spoke quietly; he coughed, blood spilling from the side of his mouth.

"Fuck, Nikolai," the wound was so close to his heart…there was no way…he would never…_shut the fuck up_. Sark pressed the jacket tighter, trying to stop the blood flow.

"I didn't…betray you," Nikolai spoke, coughing more.

"I know, Niki," Sark said, his breathing was heavy, "just…you have to…just…"

"No," Nikolai gave a small laugh, "I'm fine…"

"No, dammit, you are not fine," Sark said, cursing, "why the fuck did you let him do this to you, Niki? You're too good for this…you…" realization dawned on Sark, "you let him do this. You wanted him to shoot you?"

"Like I said, little brother," he said; his eyes opened slowly, searching for Sark; he caught his eyes, "I'm worse then he is, besides, he was going to shoot you, and I couldn't let that happen, right?" he laughed, then turned his head to look at Lazarey's retreating back. "Promise me you'll kill that bastard, Jul," The look he was giving Sark brought back so many memories…

"_Father says you're special," a twelve-year-old Nikolai spoke to Julian, then eleven. They were outside; Lazarey had brought Nikolai here to Irina's for their monthly visit._

"_I am," Julian replied proudly, "Rambaldi is my great-great and more great's grandfather." _

"_So? What's so special about being related to some old dead guy?" Nikolai picked up a rock that was lying on the ground. He toyed with it in his hand. _

"_It just is," Julian said, looking at his older brother. "You know, I am better than you." Nikolai threw the rock up at the house looming next to them, breaking a window. _

"_No you're not." But he didn't sound so sure of himself…_

"I will, but Nikolai," Sark said, looking down at his brother. He was desperate to tell him this; he didn't know why, but he had to tell him. "I am not better than you. I-"

"Yes, you are," Nikolai spoke, coughing again, more blood ran down the side of his mouth, the jacket Sark was holding onto the wound was soaked. He grabbed Sark's shirt, pulling him down; face level. He spoke, almost angrily, "You are better than me, Julian, and don't you ever fucking forget it." He fell back down, his eyes closing.

"Nikolai, I never meant what I said, you're nothing like him. _Nothing_. Do you here me?" _Fuck._ No. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't _supposed_ to happen. This was all because of-

Sark's head snapped up, his eyes searching for Lazarey. He spotted him walking quickly toward a nearby car. Sark pulled his gun out, clicking the safety off, he aimed, and shot, the bullet hitting perfectly. The car exploded, Lazarey fell back onto the ground. Sark walked to him, his face perfectly blank. He came to stand in front of his father; he knelt down, taking the gun Lazarey had and throwing it off to the side. He waited while Lazarey caught his bearings, then stood, kicking him in the stomach. Lazarey cried out.

"Julian…my son…" Sark kicked him again. Hard.

"Don't call me that," Sark spoke emotionlessly, "I'm not your son. Not anymore."

Another kick.

"You killed him," Sark shouted, "You killed my fucking brother!"

A shot. Lazarey cried out in agony as a bullet shattered his kneecap.

"That was for Simon." He shot his other kneecap, Lazarey cried out again.

"That was for Sydney," he shot Lazarey in the stomach.

"That was for Nikolai," he watched his father writhe on the ground in agony. He shot him in the heart. Lazarey stopped moving.

"That was for me," he spoke in a whisper, "you fucking bastard." He turned around, walking over to Nikolai. He didn't look back.

Not even once.

----------

End Part One


	11. Chapter 11

_Repercussions_ – **Part Two**

----------

_He handed it to Nikolai, who regarded the picture of a smiling woman with a small girl, both with dark hair. _

"_They look happy," Nikolai said it in a curious tone, almost like he had never heard of anything like it. Simon nodded, a small smile gracing his features. _

"_Yeah," he said, looking away, "they do." _

----------

_Nikolai glanced over at Sydney, still asleep. "I like her." He glanced back a Sark, serious, "Don't fuck it up, Jul, because it's the best thing that's ever happened to you, and I don't need to know everything about you to know that." He smiled; stood up, and went back to his seat. Sark didn't notice; staring at Sydney, Nikolai's voice ringing in his ears._

----------

"_Now we take Miss. Bristow here with us, and you as well," Lazarey said, "I do not know how they plan to do the fertilization process, though I have heard you two my have already accomplished it." He looked Sydney up and down, obviously liking what he saw. "I can understand why you like her so much, Julian, she is very beautiful." _

----------

"_You killed him," Sark shouted, "You killed my fucking brother!" _

----------

_He shot him in the head. Lazarey stopped moving. _

"_That was for me," he spoke in a whisper, "you fucking bastard." He turned around, walking over to Nikolai. He didn't look back. _

_Not even once. _

----------

**Chapter 1**

_Two months later…_

Simon paused outside of the small white house, his hand resting on the wooden fence lining it. He took in his surroundings, noting the large oak tree with a small swing dangling from a thick branch. The wind was blowing softly, and Simon stepped back as it blew the front door open. A loud clang was heard as it connected with the wall behind it.

"Fuck." He swore, rubbing a hand over his face, the stubble that had grown tickled his hands. He dropped them, sparing a glance back at his car parked in the driveway before opening the gate. He walked in and had taken a few steps before pausing. He bent down, picking up a child's doll off the ground. She had brown hair, with a smiling face. He threw it angrily off into the yard, satisfied when he heard it thump as it landed on the ground.

"What are you doing, Simon?" He whispered the question to himself as he continued up to the porch, pausing only a moment before walking inside. He shut the door behind himself, then stopped and stood in the entranceway of the house. All the rooms he could see were painted in pastel colors. Pictures were hanging on all the walls; most had only a woman and a small girl occupying them. He walked slowly into the room to his left, which turned out to be a bedroom, obviously the woman's.

The bed was made, its light blue comforter lying softly on it, pillows scattered at the top. He walked over to the closet, opening the door; he surveyed the clothes inside; nothing special, some jeans, t-shirts, a few light colored sun-dresses. He lifted an empty leather bag from the bottom of the closet, then shut the door.

The only personalized thing in the room was a small wooden jewelry box sitting on the dresser. He walked over, opening it up. There were two things in it, a pair of silver earrings and a silver necklace. He picked the necklace up; it was a Celtic cross. He set it back into the box softly, then closed the lid. He picked up the box and carefully set it into the leather bag he had gotten from the closet. With one more glance around the room, he walked out, entering the room across the hall.

"Jesus, fucker…" He trailed off. The room was purple; purple walls, purple bed, purple everything. But that wasn't why he was cursing. He was cursing because the room obviously belonged to a little girl. Teddy bears lined the bed. A small white dresser sat off to the side, he walked over, opening the drawers. He grabbed a handful of clothes, stuffing them into the bag.

He was about to turn when something caught his eye. Turning, he regarded the picture frame sitting on a small nightstand next to the bed. He walked over, lifting the picture slowly up to his face. It was the woman with the little girl; they were hugging each other, smiling. They were obviously happy. He dropped the bag, and quickly made his way outside; letting the door slam against the wall with the force he had ripped it open.

Fingers shaking, he dug through his pockets, finally finding what he was looking for. He pulled the cigarette packet out, quickly pulled one out and stuffed the box back into his pocket. He pulled out a lighter; brought the stick to his mouth, and held it there while he lit it. He sighed, taking a long pull, slipping the lighter back into his pocket. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, exhaling the smoke in a long string.

He brought his cigarette hand up to his forehead, his thumb rubbing over his eyebrow. What was he doing here? This was never supposed to happen. She was never supposed to-

"Fuck!" Simon yelled, his foot connecting with the porch in his anger. "Fucking _mother fucker_!" He took a deep breath, looking down at his boot clad feet. Yelling wasn't going to accomplish anything, though it did feel quite good to do. He dropped the cigarette, crushing it with his boot before walking calmly back inside. He went back into the girl's room. He stuffed the picture frame into the bag and walked out of the room, stopping only to grab a teddy bear off the bed.

He didn't bother going through the rest of the house, simply walked out, closing and locking the door behind him. He walked over to his car, throwing the bag into the back. He was about to climb in, but stopped. His head turned towards the yard. He licked his lips, as if deciding, then finally walked over to where he had thrown the brown-haired doll. He picked it up off the ground, toying with the hair softly. He looked at the small white house, the yard, the large oak tree with the swing still moving back and forth softly.

"Goodbye, Shannon."

----------

Sydney tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear. She stuck her thumbs through the loops in her jeans, her back leaning against the pickle green wall of the clinic. She inhaled deeply, grimacing when the chlorine smells of the clinic permeated through her nose. She pushed off from the wall as the door she was watching opened, revealing a woman; she was short, brown hair, eyes, and skin, obviously Mexican. She smiled at Sydney, motioning for her to come into the small room. She entered, glancing back as the woman shut the door behind her.

"Please, have a seat," she motioned to the cheap plastic chair in front of her desk. Sydney sat and waited for the woman to sit behind her desk before speaking.

"Dr. Kolas, I think I know what this is about, but I can assure you-"

"Ann," Dr. Kolas raised a hand, "I realize you need this job, but I just don't think this is the right place for you anymore, at least, not in your current condition."

"Dr.-"

"I'm sorry," She gave Sydney a regretful smile, "but I'm going to have to let you go." She rose from her set, and walked around to Sydney, handing her an envelope before opening the door. "I hope to see you again." Sydney nodded; and left the office, walking to the end of the hallway and opening the exit door. The hot Mexican air greeted her as she walked down the pathway.

"Fuck, Sydney," She swore at herself, "what are you going to do now?" She slipped on a pair of black sunglasses, adjusted her white tank top, and started walking down the dusty road.

----------

Sark lifted his head, letting the water pound onto his face. His hands came up to rest on either side of him against the shower walls. After a few minutes his hands dropped to his sides, his fingers curling into fists. His right hand came up, slamming into the wall in front of him. He cursed at the pain, the tile wall of the shower cracked. Blood ran down his hand, only to be washed away by the water still pounding down on him. He stayed like that for a few more moments before turning the water off.

He stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the rack on the wall. He dried off quickly, leaving the towel on the floor as he walked into the other room. After dressing, he walked out onto a small balcony. His hands rested on the fencing in front of him as he gazed off into the city below him. His phone rang, cutting off his thoughts. He dug through his pockets, flipping the small phone open before bringing it to his ear.

"Yes?" He listened as the person talked, his face impassive. "I'll be right there."

----------

Sark walked quickly into the small hospital, obviously knowing where he was headed. He came to a stop outside of a door numbered forty-five. He was about to open the door when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Mr. Bradley," A man in his late-forties with a white lab coat on smiled at him. Sark nodded back, glancing at the door. "you arrived here fast."

"Yes, well, considering the circumstances…"

"Of course," The doctor nodded, "Well, I'm happy to inform you that your brother has woken up from his coma. I'm sure you'd like to see him, but I just wanted to tell you he has made a full recovery. His wound is completely healed."

"Thank you," Sark said, "And yes, I'd really like to see him…" He glanced at the door.

"Of course," The doctor continued, "if you need anything, just ask a nurse." Sark nodded, turning to watch the doctor walk away. He turned back toward the door. With one last deep breath, he opened it, and walked inside.

TBC...


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 2**

Sark walked over to the bed in the small white room. He regarded his brother. He hadn't seen him since he was shot. Nikolai had been in a coma, and had been so until, apparently, this morning. His face was pale, but other then that, he looked fine. Sark sat down in the seat next to the bed.

"What, no 'I missed you so much' speech?" Sark wasn't shocked as he heard his brother speak. Nikolai opened his eyes, looking at Sark. He grinned.

"Long time no see, huh, Jul?" Sark nodded, remaining silent. Nikolai watched him for a moment before speaking. "You fucked it up, didn't you?"

"Excuse me?" Sark narrowed his eyes. Nikolai rolled his.

"Sydney isn't here, or Simon for that matter, so you must have done something."

"Simon is out of the country right now," Sark finally responded, "he had to pick up…something."

"And Sydney?" Nikolai raised an eyebrow. Sark looked away. Nikolai smirked. "You just had to fuck it up, huh, Jul? You-"

"Enough, Nikolai," Sark snapped out, rising from his seat. He ran a hand through his hair. "She's gone. After you were shot… she left."

"And why did she leave?"

"She found out about me being… related to Rambaldi." Sark said, turning back around to face him.

"Ah, the old fucker's at it again," Nikolai smirked, "So she just left?"

"After finding out I was Rambaldi's only living relative, who was supposed to be in the custody of The Covenant, by the way, she was a… little angry, to say the least."

"Yeah, I'm sure she was," Nikolai snorted, "bet she was pretty mad to learn that _after_ she had fucked you."

"Nikolai," Sark's voice held a warning tone. Nikolai raised his hands.

"Sorry," he shrugged, "told you it was a habit of mine to be crude and insulting." Sark sighed. It most definitely was.

"So tell me again where Simon is?" Sark sat back down in the chair.

----------

Sark had just gotten back from meeting with a contact of his. He slipped off his suit jacket as he walked through the house into the kitchen. The French doors leading out onto the patio were open. He slipped his gun out of its holster. Moving silently out the doors, he stopped once he saw Simon sitting on the ground, bottles of alcohol surrounding him.

"Simon?" Sark walked out onto the patio, his gun already back in its holster. He watched as his friend raised a hand with a bottle clasped tightly in it. Simon smiled.

"Julian!" He tried to stand, but fell back down, the bottle slipping from his grasp and breaking on the ground. "Bloody fucker…" He grabbed another bottle, ripping the lid off before bringing it to his mouth.

"Simon, what are you doing?" Sark walked over, taking a set next to Simon on the ground. He picked up a bottle, taking a swig.

"Drinking." Sark nodded.

"Of course, how could I have missed that?" Simon sniggered.

"I don't quite know, mate-"

"Si," Sark grabbed the bottle out of his hand, throwing it off. It landed on the ground with a loud crash. "The last time I saw you drink like this was-"

"I know when it was." Simon snapped, he rose unsteadily from the ground.

"Are you going to inform me what this is about," Sark's voice was bored, "or do I have to guess?"

"Tell me, Julian," Simon pulled out a cigarette, "do the people in our lives always die, or is it just me?" Sark froze, the bottle in his hand pausing mid-way to his mouth. His head turned to Simon.

"Si-"

"Every bloody person I've ever know, excluding you," He pointed to Sark, "Irina, Nikolai… and some other people, have died. Isn't that just fucking wonderful?" He brought the lit cigarette up to his mouth for a drag, "Honestly, Jul, I'm like the bloody grim reaper. Wait, no, I'm like that king… you know, that king who everything he touched turned to gold? Help me out, Jul, what was his bloody name…?"

"Medias." Sark supplied for him quietly.

"Right, right, King Medias," He threw the cigarette to the ground, "except instead of everything turning to gold, everything dies." He shrugged, "I don't know about you, but I'd rather have the gold."

"He died," Sark said, "Or at least would have if he hadn't begged the Gods to take back the gift."

"True," Simon smiled at Sark, shaking his finger at him, "you are just so smart, Julian, so damn smart. Although, you did fuck Sydney Bristow; and that, my friend, was just fucked up. She was mad, wasn't she? Left pretty fast after she found out, huh, Jul?"

"Simon…" Sark's voice had a warning tone. Simon chuckled.

"Oh fuck off, Julian." Sark set his bottle down on the ground, standing up.

"Come get me when you're sober," He headed for the door.

"She's dead." Simon's quiet voice carried over to Sark. He stopped.

"Who?" He remained facing the door, waiting.

"Shannon's dead." This time it was said in a choked voice. _Oh fuck_. Sark turned around.

"Are you sure?" Simon gave a choked laugh.

"Fuck yes," He pulled a letter out of his pocket, tossing it to Sark. He caught it, and opened it. After a few moments, he looked up.

"Simon…"

"Fuck!" Simon kicked a bottle of alcohol, sending it flying into a nearby tree. It broke loudly. He picked up another bottle, throwing it. Sark watched silently, waiting for him to stop. He did, once all the bottles were gone. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! _Mother fucker_!" He fell to the ground, his hands resting on his knees. Sark walked over; sat down next to him.

"Is…" He cleared his throat, "What about Ciara?" Simon remained silent for awhile, but finally spoke, his head rising. He looked at Sark.

"She's alive, Jul," He looked away as his eyes filled, "the bloody bitch left her to me. She left her… to me." Sark took a deep breath. He wrapped one arm around Simon. Simon remained tense for a moment, his shoulders sagged. He broke down, his arms wrapping around Sark. Sark remained silent, looking off into the trees. There was only one thought running through his head. _Fuck…_

----------

Nikolai was silent for a moment. He finally spoke.

"Fuck." Sark nodded.

"So he's gone to get… her?" Sark ran a hand through his hair, nodded.

"He left yesterday. He's going to bring her to the house."

"When?" Sark shrugged.

"Tomorrow, I suppose."

"How did she die?" Nikolai grabbed the glass of water next to his bed, taking a sip.

"Car accident." Nikolai whistled, setting the glass back down.

"Damn." He shook his head. They both remained silent for a moment. Nikolai spoke.

"And Sydney? Where is she?" Sark stood from the chair, turning his back to Nikolai. He cleared his throat.

"I'm not quite sure at the moment."

----------

Sydney smiled at the small children playing in the dusty streets. Mexico could be such a beautiful place. She pulled her baseball cap down lower, trying to block out the hot sun.

That was one thing she hated about Mexico. It was hot. Very, very hot. She walked for a little while longer before opening the door to a small shop. She walked inside; cool air blowing on her from the many fans located around the shop.

"_Hola, Señorita_," A man in his late forties smiled at her from behind the counter, the book in his hands forgotten. "how are you doing today?"

"I'm fine, thanks," She gave him a smile and made her way to the refrigerator section. She opened the door, goose bumps covering her arms as the cold air washed over her. She pulled out a bottle of water.

"Is this all?" She nodded as she dropped the bottle of water and a Popsicle she had gotten from the freezer onto the table. She paid and thanked the man before opening the door and reemerging into the hot Mexican air. She slipped her water into her bag, keeping the Popsicle out. She walked down the block, turning into a narrow alleyway. A small girl was playing outside while her mother was hanging clothes next to her. Sydney smiled at girl, walking over.

"_Hola_, Maria." Sydney bent down, handing the girl the Popsicle. The girl smiled, showing her missing front teeth. She thanked Sydney, and ran off to show her mother. Sydney turned, pulling out her keys, opening an old chipped red door.

"_Gracias_, Ann," The woman gave Sydney a smile, moving back to her clothes hanging. Sydney nodded and walked into the small apartment. She had lived here for two months now. It was working out well, except now she was out of a job. No worries, though. She would have to move soon anyway. She set her keys down on the old wooden table in the small kitchen, as well as her bag. She pulled off her hat and sunglasses, and took out the bottle of water before walking into the bedroom.

The apartment was small, only a kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, a short hallway, and a balcony. But it didn't matter; she didn't spend that much time here. She was always out, either working or just out walking. _And thinking_. She uncapped the bottle, taking a long drink before throwing it onto her bed. She opened the door to her balcony, walking out and sitting on the white plastic chair that was waiting for her. Her thoughts were bouncing around in her head. One thought in particular was of the visit she had had from Simon a few days ago.

----------

_She had just gotten off from her work at the clinic. Her feet were sore, and all she wanted was a nice, long shower. Of course, that would never happen. She was Sydney Bristow. Nothing in her life was easy. She had gotten home, opened the door and was surprised to find Simon sitting in her kitchen. He looked tired, and he hadn't shaved in a couple of days. _

"_Simon," She sat down across from him, "what are you doing here?" _

"_Babe," He gave her a smile, "haven't seen you in a couple of months." _

"_That's because I left, Si." She looked out the window, away from his face. _

"_Yeah, there was that." He shrugged. "Old news." _

"_Does he know where I am?" They both knew who "he" meant. _

"_No," Simon spoke, "Took some almighty shit to find you, babe. I think he's… waiting. But he'll come soon, that I'm sure of." Sydney nodded. So was she. They were both silent for awhile. _

"_How's Nikolai?" Sydney finally spoke, still gazing out of the window. _

"_Still in the coma," Simon said softly, "but he's doing fine. They said he should wake up soon, or never. You know how doctors are. But you know, Julian-"_

"_No," She turned back to him, her eyes cold, "I don't want to hear anything about him." _

"_Babe-"_

"_Simon," She shook her head, "don't." He sighed; nodded. _

"_What's wrong?" She met his eyes. "You look tired." He looked away for a moment. _

"_Uh, well…" He cleared his throat, "Did I ever tell you I had a daughter?" Sydney gaped at him, shocked. It was quiet for a moment. _

"_You have a daughter?" She finally managed. Simon nodded. _

"_She's about eight now," He pulled out his wallet, picking through it until he found what he was looking for. He handed a picture to Sydney. She took it, gazing at the woman and girl. The woman looked to be in her thirties, dark hair and eyes. The girl had the same hair and eyes, they were both smiling. She looked up after a moment. _

"_Is that her mother?" He nodded. "How… I mean, are you in contact with them?" _

"_No," He sighed, "no. Shannon was a security expert, we had a job together, things happened. She told me she was pregnant and that she was dropping out of the business. We agreed that it would be better if I didn't contact them." _

"_Wow," Sydney was still stunned. Simon has a daughter? _

"_Yeah, well…" He rubbed a hand over his face, "I just got a letter a few days ago. Shannon's dead." Oh… shit. _

"_Dead? How?" _

"_Car accident," He replied. _

"_I'm sorry." He shrugged. _

"_Shit happens." He said, "But that's not all. She left… she left her to me." _

"_She?" Sydney asked, "As in your daughter?" Simon nodded. _

"_Shannon would send me one letter a year." He glanced at the picture on the table, "but this year it didn't come, until finally a letter came two months late." He pulled a white envelope out of his jacket, sliding it to Sydney. At his nod she opened it, unfolding the letter, _

_Simon- _

_If you're reading this, I'm dead. Take care of her, she's yours. _

_-Shannon _

_Sydney slid the letter back into the envelope. She slid it back across the table to Simon. He slipped it back into his pocket. _

"_What are you going to do?" She finally asked. _

"_Well, it would seem like I'm going to have to raise… my daughter." Sydney nodded. _

"_What's her name?" _

"_Ciara." _

"_It's a beautiful name." Sydney stood, getting a bottle of water from her fridge. "When are you going to get her?" _

"_On my way now, actually." He gave her a small smile. "Thought I'd stop by and see how you were doing."_

"_That all?" Sydney raised an eyebrow, not believing. _

"_No." Simon shrugged, "I wanted to ask you something too." _

"_Oh, what's that?" She took a drink of water, watching him. _

"_Sydney, I understand you're upset, but you can't cut Julian out. This isn't just about you anymore. He deserves a chance. I can honestly tell you I wish I'd been there when my daughter grew up. I missed out on so much-"_

"_Simon," Sydney cut him off, "I don't want to hear about Sark, so stop babbling." _

"_Syd, this baby-"_

_Sydney choked on her water, spitting it onto the floor. She looked up at Simon, shocked._

"_What baby?" Simon paused, unsure what to say. _

"_Uh… the baby you're pregnant with?" Sydney closed her eyes, sighing. She opened them, meeting Simon's eyes. _

"_Simon, I am not pregnant." She shook her head along with her words._

"_You aren't? But-"_

"_We had sex once-" She cleared her throat, a flush covering her face, "a couple of times. That doesn't mean I'm pregnant." _

"_But the prophecy-" _

"_The prophecy is a load of shit, Simon." She sat down, looking tired. "Simon, I'm not pregnant, I'm not going back, and I think you should leave." Simon watched her for a moment. _

"_Syd, I didn't just come here for Jul, I came here because I need your help." He looked helpless, "I don't know how to raise a kid. You're a woman. You can help me!" He gave her a hopeful smile. She couldn't help but smile back, she shook her head. _

"_I'm sorry, Simon, but I can't." He nodded, looking defeated. _

"_Right, I understand. But when," He caught her look, "if you come back, the door's always open." He stood, heading for the door. Sydney called his name, he stopped. She ran over to him, handing him the photo he had left on the table. She gave him a quick hug, backing off. He was almost out the door when she spoke again. _

"_She looks just like you, Si."_

_TBC..._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 3**

After Simon had left, Sydney had stayed sitting in the kitchen chair for hours. Just seeing Simon had brought on so many thoughts. Her mind was like a ping-pong ball, being hit over and over and over again. She brought her legs up, curling her arms around them. Her cheek rested on her knees. She had used to think her life was complicated, but compared to now, that was nothing. And seeing Simon... well, that had only made things worse. She had been able to avoid thinking about all of that, but now…

The prophecy. Damn that stupid old man. She cursed him every day. He had completed ruined her life. She would never be free. People would always be looking for her, be after her. The only thing she could do was run. Or kill them. She glanced at the clock. Twelve am. She closed her eyes, sighing. She was never going to be able to sleep. Because he… Sark was on her mind, and when he was on her mind… she never slept.

She never thought she could hate someone as much as she hated him these past few months. He had lied to her, used her. She had trusted him. What a joke that had been. Why was she so fucking naïve? She should have learned by now that no one can be trusted. She, whose own mother had shot her, should know better. She glanced at her wrist; the burn was gone now, replaced by black ink. She had woken up one morning to find it there. She didn't even bother wondering about it. There was no a point. Thinking about it would just bring up more questions that would never be answered.

And Simon… Simon had thought she was… that she was… Oh god, she didn't even want to think about it. No. She stood up, walking into her bedroom. She pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt, slipping on a pair of shoes as well. She grabbed a black duffle, starting to stuff the rest of her belongings into it. She surveyed the room one last time before exiting. She didn't bother with anything else, just walked out the door. She had hidden for long enough. She knew exactly what she had to do now.

----------

"What? Not even going to hold the door open for your brother whom, I might add, just woke up from a coma?" Nikolai followed Sark into the house, shutting the door when Sark ignored him. The man obviously had no sense of humor. But of course, he had lost the best thing, in Nikolai's opinion, that had ever happened to him, so he did have a reason to be humorless.

"Simon called," Sark spoke over his shoulder to Nikolai as they walked into the kitchen. "He said he should be here tomorrow. And just to make this clear," he turned around to Nikolai. "Ciara is eight. So don't get any ideas." With that, he turned back around and continued walking.

"Damn. I'm so disappointed," he stared at Sark's back darkly, "'cause I would've loved some-"

"Nikolai." Sark said his name crisply, which meant he didn't want to hear it. Nikolai rolled his eyes, opening the fridge. He looked around, finally settling on a beer. He popped the top off, and was about to take a swig when Sark grabbed the bottle out of his hands. He glared at him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sark ignored him and walked over to the sink, pouring the liquid into it. He threw the bottle into the garbage once he was done, walking towards the door.

"I know you've got a stick up your ass because Sydney-" before he even got to finish his sentence, Sark had him pinned against the wall, his face full of rage.

"If you want to kill yourself, fine, but you are not doing it in my house," he spat out quietly, "So if that's what you want to do, fine, but go find another fucking place to do it in." He pulled away, letting Nikolai go. He walked out of the room, leaving an emotionless Nikolai behind. _Finally, some emotion_.

----------

Simon paused outside the stone building. His… daughter was in there. Oh fuck. He turned around, intending to walk away when he stopped. What the fuck was he doing? He didn't have a choice… this was his daughter. He had to take her. Wait… did he have to take her? Maybe she had another relative somewhere. Yeah, he thought. That's what he would tell them, to find another relative. With a sigh, he walked into the building.

The building was a tiny orphanage, small children running around everywhere. He walked to a door labeled "office". He walked in, giving the old lady behind the wooden desk a small nod. She smiled at him.

"Hello, dear." She motioned to a chair sitting in front of the desk. He sat. "What can I do for you?"

"Ah, I'm… I'm Ciara's-"

"You're Ciara's father? Mr. Jones?" The woman smiled again, standing up. "How wonderful! We've been waiting for you to come pick her up." Simon watched the woman for a moment, at a loss for words.

"Right, uh… I was wondering, isn't there someone else, another relative somewhere-"

"Oh no," she woman shook her head furiously, her eyes sad, "you are the only relative. She doesn't have anyone else."

"There has to be-"

"I'm sorry, dear," she smiled at him sadly. "I can see you're having a few doubts-"

"A few?" Simon snorted, "try a fuckin-" he caught the woman's shocked look, "uh… a lot."

"Well, young man," she pulled him to his feet, "why don't you come with me and we can go see Ciara, then you and I can talk." Simon shook his head.

"I don't think-"

"Don't you worry," She pulled him out into the hallway, down to a room at the far left. She knocked once, then opened the door, pushing Simon in. She walked in behind him, shutting the door behind her. Simon regarded her in horror. The woman had practically forced him into the bloody room. What kind of-

"Ciara," the woman spoke to someone behind him, "this is Mr. Jones. He's come to take you." She smiled at Simon, motioning him to turn around. He stared at her, shaking his head. She just kept smiling, and after a moment, Simon finally turned around.

A small girl was sitting on the ground next to a bed. She had her back to them, her long dark hair tied up on her head. She was wearing a pink sweater, staring at something on the floor. He glanced at the old woman one more time before walking over to the small girl. He walked around her, coming to stand in front of her. He knelt down, noticing her hugging a brown teddy bear to her chest. He opened his mouth, closed it.

"Ciara," She looked up and he felt something tugging at his heart. She was so beautiful, so innocent. Her eyes matched her hair, dark brown, almost black. She looked so much like her mother. He smiled at her hesitantly. "Mind if I sit down." She shook her head, he sat.

"Uh, I'm sorry about your mother," He finally spoke. She turned her head, looking up at him.

"Are you Simon?" Her voice was so soft, so quiet.

"Aye, I am," He was shocked she knew his name. "did your mother talk about me?" The girl nodded.

"She said that you were my daddy." She said, pulling her teddy bear tighter.

"What else did she say?" He was curious what Shannon had told her about him.

"She said that if she ever got hurt, you would take care of me." She looked up into her face, her eyes big as saucers, "Are you going to take care of me now?" Simon looked away, swallowing. He closed his eyes, opened them. He turned back to her.

"Yeah, babe," He gave her a small smile, "that is if you want to come live with me." The girl glanced back at the old woman still standing in front of the door, she looked back at Simon.

"I want to," She finally said, "I don't like it here." Simon nodded.

"Yeah, I suppose living with that old bird doesn't really have its perks." The girl giggled, and Simon had never heard a better sound. He stood up, nodded towards the door.

"So what do you say? Ready to go?" The girl nodded, standing up. She took his hand in her little one, pulling him towards the door.

"Can we go get Casey now?" _Casey? Who the hell was Casey?_ Simon sighed. This was going to be a long day. There was no way he was bringing back _two _little girls. Hell no.

----------

Sark jerked up in bed, the sheets pooling at his waist, glancing around quickly. Everything was dark, the only light coming from a lone window. He threw the sheets to the side, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, walking towards the window. He was so caught up gazing at the sky he didn't notice the person sitting in the chair in the corner of his room.

"Miss me?" He turned around quickly, watching as Sydney rose from the chair, walking over to him. He watched as she came over, stopping as her body touched his. She met his eyes, bringing a hand up to run gently down the side of his face. He closed his eyes, sighing softly. His eyes opened, watching as her face moved closer. Her lips touched his. She pressed against him, her tongue pushing past his lips to touch his. She pulled away.

"Sydney…" He called her name softly. She leaned up again, touched her lips briefly against his. He gasped in pain as he felt a blade slice through his abdomen. She pulled away, her face expressionless. He looked down, his hands covered in blood, his blood.

"You should never have lied to me, Sark." He watched her as he fell to the floor. His abdomen was on fire, the pain intense. He watched her as she stared down at him, unmoving. He looked at the ceiling… it was getting so far way…

Sark jerked awake in bed, his breathing fast. He was covered in sweat. The room was dark, the only light coming from the window. He looked at the chair in the corner. Empty. He leaned back against the headboard, closing his eyes. Oh fuck. He was dreaming again. Just what he needed right now with everything else going on. He opened his eyes, pushing himself off the bed. He walked into the bathroom, flicking the light on as he stood in front of the sink. He turned the faucet on, splashing the cold water onto his face. He turned it off, reaching for a towel.

He glanced up in the mirror, taking in his appearance. His face was littered with dark blonde stubble. He had shadows under his stormy eyes. He had never seen them this dark. Damn. He glanced at the scar on his shoulder, the one he had received from Sydney. He looked away, his teeth grinding together. Things weren't supposed to be like this. They weren't supposed to… fuck. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"You look like shit, Sark." He glanced up in the mirror. Sydney. He spun around quickly. She was standing in the doorway, her brown hair braided and hanging over her shoulder. Blood was spattered over her neck and chest, as well as her arms.

"Sydney-" Before he got to finish his sentence, Sydney lifted her arm, gun in hand, and shot him square in the chest.

TBC...

**A/N:** Pleaseleave a review if you're reading this! It really makes me want to write more knowing people are actually reading it. All comments are welcome!


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 4**

_18 hours earlier…_

Sydney stepped off the curb, slipping into the cab quickly. She glanced out the window, spotting the red haired woman slip into a cab behind her. She narrowed her eyes, annoyed. The woman had followed her from Mexico to Italy. Stupid bitch. This woman was in the wrong business. Sydney gave the driver directions, sitting back in her seat to wait.

It only took five minutes to get to her location. She paid the driver, watching the red haired woman do the same. Fucking amateur. She stepped out; walking into the club she had directed the driver to. The place was packed. Bodies grinding together everywhere, people drinking, smoking. She walked to the back, pushing away anyone who came near her. She wasn't exactly feeling friendly right at this moment.

She pushed open the back door, closing it behind her. She breathed in the fresh air, thankful she wasn't in the smoky club anymore. She stood in the shadows, waiting. It only took two minutes before the red haired woman emerged from the door. She walked down the alleyway. Sydney silently came up behind her, her gun directed at the woman's back.

----------

"So, are you going to tell me why you were following me, or do I need to make you?" Sydney regarded the red haired woman who was now tied to a pipe in a darkened corner of the alley. The woman looked up at Sydney. She stayed silent. Sydney nodded her head.

"You sure about that? 'Cause I'm feeling rather unhappy right now, and I have no problem using you as my punching bag." The woman said nothing. Sydney walked closer to her. She punched the woman across the face. Blood speckled the alley wall. She leaned down the woman, whispered in her ear. The woman's eyes widened, she looked away.

"I just… I'm just doing a favor for some guy. He paid me." Sydney nodded.

"And this guy's name?" The woman shook her head. Sydney picked up an empty beer bottle breaking it on the wall. She put it to the woman's throat.

"Wait, wait…" The woman closed her eyes, "His name is Thomas D'Aubigne, he works for himself, I swear. He owns a club here, across town. It's called The Colony." She looked at Sydney, her eyes begging. "Please, let me go… I won't tell him anything." Sydney stood up, backing away from the woman. She raised her gun, met the woman's eyes.

"I would advise you to find another profession," she spoke quietly, "and if I ever see you again, I will bury you, whether you're breathing or not." She slammed the butt of her gun against the woman's head, knocking her unconscious.

----------

Sydney had waited for the club to close, which had taken quite a while. It wasn't until three am that she spotted D'Aubigne make his way of the stairs to his living space. She silently followed the man up, knocking one guard unconscious before he could say anything. She waited a moment outside D'Aubigne's door before opening it silently. It was dark, only a small light on. She walked down the small hallway, peeking into one of the bedrooms. Bingo. D'Aubigne was lying on the bed, probably passed out. Sydney slipped a silver knife out of her boot, her lips curving into a smile.

----------

_Present…_

Sark moved his head slowly. His chest hurt like hell. He licked his dry lips. _Damn, what the hell did you drink— oh fuck._ He tried moving his wrists, no use. His head shot up, which he immediately regretted. His neck was sore from hanging on his chest. Dammit. He scanned the area. He was still in his bedroom, except he was now tied to a chair. There was another chair across from him. He glanced down, noting he was only wearing a pair of cotton drawstring pants. He sighed, looking up.

He tried moving his feet, no use. They were tied to the chair as well. Sydney obviously didn't want him moving. At all. He closed his eyes, sighing. Things were so _fucked_— his head snapped up as the door to his room opened. Sydney walked in; her hair was wet, the tendrils hanging over her shoulders. She was wearing a clean tank top. She sat down in the chair across from him. She folded her arms, leaning back in the chair. She regarded him.

"Sydney-"

"Don't talk." She didn't move, simply spoke. He shut his mouth, waiting for her to speak again. "I'll ask questions, you answer. Got it?" He nodded.

"Why did you help me?"

"I told you, because I don't think—"

"Don't give me any of that bullshit, Sark. I want the truth. Simon mentioned something about my mother. What was he talking about?"

"I don't know—" Faster than Sark thought possible, Sydney had backhanded him across the face. He licked the right side of his mouth, tasting blood.

"_Don't_ bullshit me, Sark. I'm not in the mood." Her voice was cold, same as her expression.

"Simon and I promised Irina we would protect you. That's all she asked of us. She knew about the prophecy, she knew people would be after you."

"If she knew about the prophecy why would she have _you_ protect me?" Her voice grew even colder, if possible.

"I don't know, but," he raised his voice before she could hit him, "I would assume, since Irina was always fond of Rambaldi, she wanted to see what would happen." Sydney let out a humorless laugh.

"Guess she would be happy if she knew how it turned out, huh?"

"Sydney—"

"Why didn't you tell me you were related to him?" Sark met her gaze.

"Because I knew if I did, you wouldn't let me help you." Sark raised an eyebrow, "Am I right?"

"Yes, but you still should have told me." Sydney looked away for a moment. "Where is she, my mother?"

"I'm not sure." He spoke softly, "I have ways of contacting her, but I haven't in quite a while. May I ask a question now?" At Sydney's nod he continued. "You were covered in blood before, whose was it?" Sydney smirked.

"I went to visit a friend." She said. "The Covenant, are they really after me?"

"Yes, but not only them." Sark said, "Anyone with any…interest in Rambaldi is looking for you and…" He trailed off.

"My children. And you, of course." Sydney filled in for him. He nodded. "Does anyone know you're Rambaldi's relative?"

"Simon, Nikolai, Irina, and…" He pressed his lips together for a moment. "My father."

"Did he tell anyone?" Sark shrugged.

"We're not sure." He said, "But it's probable."

"Probable?" Sydney shook her head, "What are you going to do if they have?"

"I'm not… sure. Yet." Sydney turned her head, staring out the window for a moment. The sun was rising. She turned back to him.

"I suppose one way to solve the problem would be to kill you." Sark met her eyes with a blank stare; nodded.

"It's a possibility, but they would still hunt you." Sydney nodded.

"Probably." She regarded him for a moment, "So this leaves us in an interesting situation, huh?" She smirked. "It doesn't really matter if I kill you or not. Either way, I'll still be hunted. And I did promise you I would kill you if you ever betrayed me, so… would you like to start begging for your life, Sark?"

----------

"Ciara, babe," Simon tugged her hand, pulling her to a stop. "Babe, I know you want to bring your friend with you, but we can't take a little girl home, it's-"

"What are you talking about?" Ciara was frowning. "We're not bringing a girl home; we're bringing my _dog_ home." Simon's mouth shut. _Oh_.

"Uh, Ciara, I'm not sure if that's such a good idea. You see, I don't think my friends would like-"

"But Casey's my best friend!" Ciara's eyes were tearing up. Simon's eyes widened. _Shit_.

"Wait! Don't cry, please! We'll bring him." He let out a mental sigh when she smiled. "Let's go find the little bas-… dog. Let's go find your dog." Ciara smiled and started walking again. Simon followed with slumped shoulders. He was _so_ screwed, there was no doubt about it.

----------

It was a huge mass of fur.

It was slobbering everywhere.

And it was in his car.

Simon grimaced when the huge mutt smeared drool across a window. Simon wasn't exactly fond of animals. He had nothing against them; he just didn't feel the need to own any, or touch any... or be near any. You had to feed them, and wash them… too much responsibility in his opinion. And yet, here he was… the owner of a huge dog, as well as a father. Holy shit.

----------

"McKenas Cole." The voice was female, with a slight Russian accent. Cole grinned into the phone, licking his bottom lip in anticipation.

"Baby, so nice to hear your voice!"

"I could not say the same." Cole laughed, catching the attention of the few people in the parking lot he was standing in. He waved to them, making a crude sign towards the blonde woman nearest to him. She opened her mouth in outrage, and walked off quickly.

"Baby, you know you love hearing me talk. It's one of your favorite pass-times, apart from torturing people, of course."

"It is true I very much enjoyed torturing you, Cole." She spoke. He smirked.

"Yeah, that was fun-time for me too."

"Did you receive the photos?" She asked softly. Cole nodded into the phone.

"Sure did, babe. Interesting things going on, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes. Do you understand what you are to do?" She spoke again.

"Uh-huh. You sure you want me to wait 'til then? I could easily do this now—"

"No." The woman spoke coldly. "You are to do as told, nothing else. This cannot go wrong."

"I hear yah, babe." He spoke calmly, even though the woman on the other end was obviously not someone to mess with.

"Good. Call me when it is done." She said.

"Sure thing—" The line went dead. Cole stared lovingly at the phone. What a woman she was, a cold-hard bitch who didn't give a damn about anyone other than herself. Just the kind of woman he always fell for. He flipped the phone shut, nodding again towards the group of women. They glared at him as he walked away. He had things to prepare if he was going to pay a little visit to Pigtails anytime soon.

----------

"Sydney…" Sark spoke quietly, watching Sydney as she paced around the room. "Why don't you untie me and we can figure this out—" Sydney's hand covered his mouth, her mouth next to his ear.

"I know Nikolai wants me." She felt Sark tense next to her. "I could go find him right now… I could fuck him, right now, while you're tied to this chair. I bet if I left the door open, you would even be able to hear us. Would you like that, Sark?" She pressed her lips against his ear. "Hearing Nikolai and I fuck?" She laughed as he ripped his mouth away from her hand.

"Oh," a concerned expression covered her features, "did I upset you? Did I make you angry, Sark? Or maybe… maybe I made you hot." She laughed again, coming to kneel behind him. She put her mouth on his neck, biting him softly. She looked up to see his eyes closed, his expression blank. She smiled, licking his neck.

She made her way up his neck, up the side of his cheek. Her mouth found his. Her tongue pushed into his mouth, searching for his. After a moment, a strangled noise made its way out of Sark's throat. He pushed back against her mouth as much as he could while tied up. His tongue met hers. She pulled back, breathing harshly. She smirked.

"So I guess that answers the question of whether you still want me." She stood, walking towards the window. Sark watched her, breathing deeply. He was pissed now.

"Sydney—" Before he could finish his sentence, the door to his room opened, Nikolai appeared. He was only wearing boxers. The scar from his gunshot wound was a white jagged line across his chest. Without his shirt, you could see both of his nipples were pierced. He surveyed the room, glancing from Sark to Sydney and back again.

"Is this some sort of weird sex game going on in here?" He glanced down at Sark's tied feet and hands. "Or did you want some help?"

"Sark's fine." Sydney spoke commandingly, walking towards Nikolai. "We're just having some fun." She came to a stop in front of Nikolai, running a hand over his chest, fingering one of his nipple rings. She glanced up to his face, her eyes dark.

"I like these." Nikolai smirked. Sydney rose up to cover his mouth with hers. She brought her hands up to his face, holding him while she pushed her body against his. Nikolai responded, one arm snaking around her waist. He kissed her for another moment, letting the feeling of her wash over him before his other arm came around, this one holding a syringe. He plunged it into her ass. She pulled back with a yell, looking at the syringe in his hand.

"You fucking… bastard! I'm going to…" She fell; Nikolai caught her before she hit the ground. He picked her up gently, laying her on Sark's bed before coming back to Sark, who wore a blank expression. Nikolai untied his arms, Sark untied his own legs. He waited for Sark to speak, watching as he walked over to Sydney, checking her pulse.

"It's just a sedative." Nikolai spoke. He had made sure to come prepared. He knew Sydney wasn't playing nice, and although he would have liked to see how Sark got out of that one, he didn't want his little brother to receive any…permanent damage. They couldn't afford any injuries now. And Sydney was obviously pissed. Extremely pissed. Before Nikolai could ponder anymore, Sark turned, his fist connecting with the left side of Nikolai's jaw. Nikolai fell against the wall, holding his face.

"Fuck!" He pushed off the wall, moving his jaw gingerly. That hurt. "That's how you thank me for saving your ass from being sexually assaulted by—" Nikolai stopped, glanced at Sydney lying on the bed wearing only a small tank top and panties, grimaced, and nodded. "Never mind. I would have punched me too." Sark pursed his lips, shaking his head.

"That was for molesting Sydney." Sark spoke calmly. Nikolai scoffed. _Like he needed to molest her._ All he had to do was walk into the room.

"Molesting _her_?" He laughed. "_She_ was all over _me_. Not the other way around." He shook his head, his eyes roaming over Sydney again. _What have I done? _"I should have just let her ravish me." _Oh yeah._

"Nikolai!" Sark sent a glare in his direction.

"What? She's hot. I'm horny. We'd be good together." He put a hand to his chest, brushing over one of his nipple rings lovingly. "They always love the nipple rings." They both looked towards the door as Simon walked by carrying something, or rather, some_one_. They waited a moment, in which Simon had backed up, adjusting the little girl in his arms.

He walked into the room, glancing from Nikolai, who was standing and fiddling with one of his nipple rings, to Sark, who was standing there in his boxers staring at him, to Sydney, who was lying on the bed, obviously unconscious. He waited a moment, then turned without saying a word and walked out of the room.

**TBC…**

Thanks for the reviews, guys! Keep 'em coming!


	15. Chapter 15

_Repercussions_

**Chapter 15**

Simon watched Ciara and the dog sleeping on the bed for a moment longer, then turned to leave. He shut the door behind himself, and walked back down the hallway. He had made sure to put her room next to his own, just in case she needed him. _Needed him_. Well, shit. Someone actually needed him. He never thought that would actually happen. That someone would be dependent on him. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Btu he wasn't going to dwell on that right now. He had other matters to deal with.

He walked back to the room he had left Sark and Nikolai in, glancing up at them as he walked in. They were still in the same position, both standing by the bed Sydney was lying on. Both of them were shirtless, Sark was glaring at Nikolai, who was ignoring him and watching Sydney. Simon sighed, catching their attention.

"Hey, Si." Nikolai spoke. Simon ignored him and walked over to Sydney. She was splayed over the bed, her damp hair spread over her chest and neck. He moved her hair to the side, checking her pulse. Slow and steady. She wasn't waking up anytime soon. He grabbed a blanket off the end of the bed and covered her with it. He turned back to Sark and Nikolai, raising an eyebrow.

"Someone care to explain why it looks like you three are having a pajama party and Syd here is unconscious?" Nikolai shrugged and flopped down onto a nearby chair. Simon turned his gaze to Sark.

"She shot me with a tranquilizer earlier; I woke up tied to a chair. She questioned me, then Nikolai interrupted, and he…" Sark let out a deep breath, gritting his teeth, "injected her with a sedative." Simon nodded.

"Anything else?"

"When she came earlier, she was covered in blood. Not her own. She doesn't have any wounds." Sark said. Simon nodded again.

"I'll run a check, see if anyone's been killed around here tonight."

"I think she did it with a knife." Sark ran a hand through his hair. "I'm going to go shower." He turned to Nikolai, who raised his hands.

"I'm leaving." Nikolai nodded to Simon, and left. Simon turned back to Sark, watching him.

"You okay, Jul?" Simon spoke softly. Sark nodded, watching Sydney. Simon stood and headed for the door.

"Simon." He stopped, turning back to Sark. "How did it go?" Simon shrugged.

"Fine, I guess. I…I need some sleep. I'll talk to you in the morning." He turned to leave again, then stopped. "Oh… you don't mind dogs, right, Jul?" He was greeted by silence, and with a smirk on his face, he left the room.

----------

Sark had deliberated what to do with Sydney for quite a while, finally deciding to let her be. He wasn't going to lock her up, or tie her down. He had a feeling that would piss her off immensely, but he also had a feeling that once she saw their new house guest, she just might revert back to her old self. He had left her on the bed in his room, and taken the one across the hall. Sydney wouldn't be waking up for a long time, so he wanted to get all the rest he could before then.

----------

Nikolai had gone back to his bed and slept for a few hours before getting up again. It was seven in the morning, and he finally decided sleeping wasn't an option. He had rolled out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. His thoughts drifted to last night, and he almost smirked. Sydney was going to be pissed when she woke up, and he almost didn't want to be there. Almost. He chuckled, running a hand down his chest. _Yeah, she was going to be pissed. _

He opened the fridge and rummaged around in it, looking for something edible. He spotted a six-pack of beer in the back, but he resisted the urge to take it. He wasn't an alcoholic, or at least, he wasn't going to continue being one if he had been. His father had been, and there was no way Nikolai was going to be like his father. He grabbed the orange juice and shut the door, only to jump back a foot in shock at the sight that greeted him.

"Hi, I'm Ciara. What's your name?" A smiling dark haired little girl was staring up at him. She had on bright purple pajamas and fuzzy slippers. She looked just like Simon with her dark hair and eyes. "Are you Uncle Niky? Daddy said that you had weird hair. So you must be him." She continued to smile. "Are you having breakfast? Can I eat too? We can make pancakes! I used to make them with my mommy all the time. They taste really good. Did you know that you're half-naked? My mommy said that I can't walk around like that 'cause I'm a girl, but boys can. I don't think it's very fair—"

"Whoa, stop!" Nikolai finally spoke. Ciara stopped talking, and stared at him. He stared back. This little girl was…he opened the orange juice container and took a swig from it. He really needed a drink…no. No drinks. He could deal with this…it was just a little girl. How much trouble could she be?

----------

A lot of trouble, as it turns out. All she did was talk. Talk about anything and everything. Nikolai sighed, glancing at her sitting next to him. He had finally agreed to make pancakes after she had talked about them for ten minutes straight. They had made a mess. There was flour everywhere, including on them. Dirty bowls covered the kitchen countertops; a pan was on the stove, the remains of a few pancakes still on it. A plate sitting on the table where they were now was piled high with pancakes, all various shapes and sizes.

"Chocolate chip are my favorite." Ciara spoke, following Nikolai's lead and ripping a pancake in half before biting a piece off. Who needed plates? "My mommy made shapes and stuff when we made pancakes. But these are okay, too." Nikolai didn't say anything. He had finally figured out that he didn't need to. The girl loved to talk.

"Can I have some milk, please?" Ciara looked up from her pancakes and stared at him with a smile. Nikolai shook his head with a grin. The girl knew how to get what she wanted. He grabbed a glass from the shelf and poured the milk. She thanked him and took a sip. "Uncle Niky? How come you have that thing?" She pointed to his nipple ring, which was still visible. He hadn't bothered to put on a shirt, which he now regretted.

"That's…"

"That's nothing, babe." Simon walked into the room, looking tired and scruffy in a t-shirt and pants. Nikolai glanced behind him as a giant dog jogged in after Simon. "Niky here just likes to be different." Simon poured himself a glass of milk and sat down at the table next to Ciara, across from Nikolai. He glanced at Nikolai, giving him a dark smile as he bit into a pancake savagely. "Right, Niky?"

"Right." Nikolai cleared his throat, occupying himself with his orange juice. He had a feeling he was going to get a little talk from Simon later, and he wasn't going to like it.

"Nikolai!" Sark's voice shouted his name, and Nikolai couldn't help but start laughing, spitting his juice over the table. He coughed, trying not to choke, but kept laughing anyway. He knew exactly why Sark was yelling, and it was funny as hell. Simon directed a questioning look at him, but he just shrugged. Before Simon could speak, Sark came walking into the kitchen, looking extremely pissed. Simon opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, his mouth hanging open as he stared at Sark.

Sark was wearing a t-shirt with something written on it. Simon looked closer, trying to make out the words—

"Holy shit…" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He glanced quickly at Ciara. "I mean…" He looked back at Sark. He couldn't help it. He started to grin, and then he laughed. Written across Sark's chest was—_Big Truck, Little Willy?_

"Nikolai, you piece of—"

"Jul," Simon interrupted him, nodding towards Ciara. Sark stopped, glaring at Nikolai. He glanced at Simon. "Why didn't you just put on another shirt?"

"Because," Sark gave Nikolai, who was still laughing his ass off, another dark look. "Nikolai here took all my shirts, leaving," he glanced down with obviously distain at the shirt he was wearing, "this one."

"Well…" Simon pressed his lips together, trying to stop grinning. Nikolai was so immature, but it was still funny as hell, and he couldn't help it. "That is quite an… interesting shirt."

"Yeah, Jul." Nikolai finally spoke, "Do you find that it might be—"

"Complete shit, Niky?" Sark glared at him. "Why, yes, I do."

"What's a little Willy?" Ciara spoke up from her chair, her glass of milk still in her hands. A silence descended as everyone turned towards her. Simon stared.

"It… it's just… a..."

"A dog." Nikolai spoke. "It's a dog. You know, little Willy. He's a… little dog." Ciara nodded.

"Oh." She pointed to the giant dog lying on the floor next to Simon. "That's my dog. Her name's Casey." Nikolai nodded. The dog was enormous. Simon had dropped his head into his hands. Sark hand crossed his arms over his chest, covering the words. He turned to Ciara.

"Ciara." He spoke, giving her a small smile. "I'm—"

"Uncle Julian." Ciara supplied for him. He nodded, glancing at Simon. He coughed, unsure what else to say. He didn't normally talk to little girls. Actually, he _never _talked to little girls. What was he supposed to say? What did one say to little girls?

"Uncle Julian is having some personal problems right now." Nikolai spoke, smirking in Sark's direction.

"Like that lady who I saw earlier?" Another silence fell over the room. What was she—

"Shit." Sark swore before he could stop himself. He turned to Ciara. "When did you see this lady?" Ciara looked thoughtful.

"Before I came into the kitchen. I was walking down the hallway and she walked out of a room. She didn't look very happy." She smiled. "She said that I look like my Daddy." She glanced at Simon, who gave her a small grin. "And that she wasn't mad at him, just you two." She pointed to Sark and Nikolai. Nikolai snorted.

"Gee, I wonder why…" Nikolai glanced at Sark. He stood from the table, running a hand through his hair. "I think I'll go hunt the girl down." Sark made a move to interrupt, but Nikolai stopped him. "Bro, she's more pissed at you than me. I'll talk to her." Sark opened his mouth to object, but stopped. It was true. He nodded at Nikolai.

"Fine. But, Nikolai…" he gave his brother a dark look, "be good." Nikolai smirked.

"I'm always good."

_TBC…_


End file.
